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Writing has become an addiction. And thesaurus.com is my best friend.

Like my addiction to all things 19th century English countryside, to Ghirardelli’s chocolate-y, fudge-y, gooey brownies, to my family and friends, to reflecting His light in a dark world.Anne Hathaway as Jane Austen writingAs my head scrunches into my pillow only minutes before midnight—yes, late again, having gotten lost in scribbles, or wandering around other authors’ books and blogs, getting lost in their inscribed musings—my typical thoughts revolve around food and words, aka breakfast and writing.


Most of you take pictures and post them on the dozens (hundreds?) of social media outlets. But I write what I see, what I hear, those impressions and experiences stirring within, what changes me, and nudges me to present to the world, in hopes that it might change some of us a tiny bit.

Anne-of-Avonlea-teacher-imageIt isn’t till later when I realize, Hey, I have a smartphone now! I could have taken a picture! Too late. I think there’s a total of one photo in my photo gallery. Of a homemade pizza I made two weeks ago. And forgot to upload (or is it download?) and post it.

Homemade pizza is a big deal around here, since I no longer cook like I used to, and haven’t made it in a gazillion months. My family was actually yelling at me to hurry up and take the picture so they could eat! Really. That was after I yelled at my daughter when she tried to cut the thing before I took the picture. Okay, we weren’t actually yelling, cuz yelling is forbidden in our house, unless there’s a fire—but our voices were definitely louder than usual.

When I learn how to transfer photos from my phone to my laptop, I’ll post the picture. But don’t hold your breath.

Those who don’t write, do not and cannot realize how much work labor arduous back-breaking, mind-bending effort is involved in the task of writing. Honestly, I sit here typing away, wondering why I waste my time.

(Especially when my garden begs my attention. And I visit home and garden blogs, and drool with envy.)

It’s something my husband wonders, too, I’m sure, when tracking down a clean pair of boxers from the overflowing basket in the laundry room first thing in the morning.

Every Help Wanted sign and ad calls to me, Try getting a real job. You might hate it, but at least it would pay the bills.

Yet, here I sit, beating my brain and pounding the keys, inscribing images given by Him, intended to be given away, meant for engraving upon hearts and minds of all who happen by, who take the time to read.

This is why I write.

Because God made us in His image, to be creative, to find pleasure and fulfillment in the creative process. But, if you’ve tried creating anything, you no doubt discovered, we are not Him.

He spoke. And it was so.

Perfectly so.

Amazingly and beautifully so.

Complete in one sumptuous swoop.


We on the other hand create in spurts and sputters, in bits and pieces, handicapped by our fallen nature, by our affection for avarice, our leanings toward all that is dusty…

with far more failed attempts than successes,

and a large eraser nearby,

and a hefty supply of fresh paper,

and a trash can,

and a stack of blank canvases, a leather case packed with brushes…


OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAor in my case, a well-worn delete button. And discarded virtual documents the world will never lay eyes on. Yet, create we must. Because God is pleased when we imitate Him.


Beatrix-Potter-Jemima-PuddleduckWork was given to Adam before the Fall. Only after the Fall did work become a burden. But originally by God’s design, instilled within each of us is the desire, the ability to imagine, to think through riddles and mysteries of the universe, to manipulate with our hands in shaping and fashioning as He did (and continues to do, in making us more like Him).

This process of creating is a worthy endeavor. And the harder it seems, the more we must resist the temptation to give up, or give in to the status quo, to living as one programmed to produce, to function on fast-forward, when my spirit and His cry out, Be still, and know that I am God…  –  Psalm 46:10

Whether five people read my words or five thousand times five thousand.

Whether her creations feed a family of four or a restaurant full of families.

Whether your designs hang on the humble walls in your home, in an obscure scrapbook passed on to your children’s children, or on the walls of international metropolitan galleries.

Or even if your sole creative contribution to society is the stability of a mother’s (or father’s) love, by raising children imprinted with the character of the Divine, in a world veering fast and far away from His heart, from His intent, from His gifts of loving artistry.

Because a bed made clean and trim, with pillows fluffed for only a few to see delights the souls of those requiring rest…

a meal prepared by hands that care nourishes more than empty tummies…

amounts figured and customers served with kindness cheers those rushing through another day like every other day…

bathing squirming bodies and washing dishes and laundering clothes and sacrificing personal time doing mundane chores, day in and day out, are great efforts not unnoticed, and never forgotten, by the One who sees all.

Because God transforms every task done for Him, every labor of love, into memorable works of art.

If your creative offerings in some small way bring beauty and light to the community where you reside, your efforts are not wasted—they are necessary, and greatly needed in our generation. And your work will make a difference to somebody at some point in time.

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void; and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters. Then God said, Let there be light; and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good; and God divided the light from the darkness.  –  Genesis 1:1-3

These paltry efforts at weaving beauty in narrative form to communicate age-old truths in today’s contemporary setting… distinguishing light from shadowy images masquerading as light… relevant, yet poetic… honest, transparent in the telling, yet comforting, encouraging, strengthening, illuminating, nurturing our weary souls… I share with you here the stumblings and successes of a woman longing to be more like her Maker.

Like me, I hope you will continue creating, continue the work God presses you to do. And keep looking up.