Ten years ago, I crafted a list of 50 things I wanted to accomplish. The things on it were as expansive and colorful as a Texas sunset sky. “Sing karaoke in a dive bar” and “get a tattoo” buddied up with “give all the cash in my purse to a homeless person” and “travel internationally for ministry.”
By the time I celebrated my 50th birthday, there were a lot of checkmarks. I went sailing and visited new states, I indeed sang karaoke in a dive bar and got the first of three tattoos that now adorn my body. I didn’t learn to dance with my husband, never finished Rosetta Stone, and am still hoping for a bona fide picnic with Frisbee and fried chicken and naps on quilts in the cool shade of a tall oak tree.
The list included writing poetry and writing a bucket list. But writing a book was nowhere to be found. I remember talking to a professor years after that list was written and saying, “I don’t have 50,000 of anything decent in me. I write commercials and captions and short stories. Pigs will fly before I’ll ever write a book.” But here’s the thing: the book was already being written by God within me.
He held the pen, and He knew the storyline. And so He doodled an invisible #51 on that list: “Embrace the story that’s being written in and through me—and when the time is right, share that story with those who need to be reminded that there’s a story being written in them too.” Even if there were no devotionals published, even if there was no book being written about women impacting the world for good, even if there were no words to write at all, there would still be the story of us—and it would be a powerful and purposeful one. It would be the thing that would transform the lives of others. I promise.