For some it happens when the church bells have just sang their song throughout the town. For others the silence of their own solitude makes the loudest of declarations, while others sit patiently trying to figure this moment. They awaken from their slumber with a jolt as the realization hits them that “THIS” is their God given purpose. For me it was when I started writing this post:
One hour into my typing I had the ingenious idea to save what I had been so thoughtfully creating. Only there was a problem; due to a glitch in cyberspace only the first line had been saved, and there I found my self starting again from the beginning:
From the tiny papers I used to pass notes with in elementary school, to the plethora of PTA meetings where my teachers would say “She’s a smart kid, but she talks a lot” writing has always defined me. To this day I still think those teachers were wrong. I had learned that the word “but” was used to introduce a contradicting statement, and yet I always thought that speech was our way of sharing the thoughts and knowledge that pass though out minds. The very place created to expand my horizons attempted to limit who I was, “a giver of words”.
Peer-pressured snickers arose from my lips as my 7th grade English teacher suggested we all submit a poem for a contest submission. It was corny at the moment, but I later realized that there was no strain to produce a work of art through simple consonants and Vowels. I had enjoyed creating the work, just as much as I enjoyed the teacher announcing to the class that I was now
a published poet with Creative Communications publishing company.
As gallons of ink flowed from my heart, poetry is what kept me sane through the hardest moments of my life.
When my mouth could not express what my heart felt, written emotions are what helped me to write a love letter to my first love.
The day my youngest brother was born, my closest companion since kindergarten moved away and the “postage stamped envelope” helped me keep in contact with her before the internet had fully developed.
From the very first time I wrote my name, up to these words that will ring through your mind, I realize there isn’t ONE moment.
With each movement of the ticking clock we must strive to move forward. When we give one moment precedence over the rest, we cheat ourselves from seeing the beauty of each piece of the big puzzle. This past weekend I was asked, “When did you know this was what you wanted to do?” I was first ashamed for having not thought it through, but my many moments have brought me to the epiphany I share at hour.
This is my defibrillator. My heart has been bestirred. As I reach my third hour in this seat I realize that this is the passion God has instilled in me, to write. My moment has come.
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