“Mama, Mama! Looky, looky!” Golden curls bouncing, five-year-old Sarah skipped into the living room, her pencil clutched in one hand and a group of sticky notes in the other.
“What is it, Lullabelle?” her mama asked as the little sundress clad girl was climbing beside her on the couch and proudly holding out her treasure.
“I wrote a story!” Sarah squealed, snuggling into her mama’s arm in anticipation. She had written each word so carefully, tongue in cheek the entire time.
“Let me see!” Mama’s enthusiasm always matched her children’s whenever something of importance concerned them.
Taking the five sticky notes and holding tight to her daughter’s hand, Mama saw the crudely written line on each one. She ignored spelling errors and filled in the missing words as she read aloud, “I went outside to play. A boy was sad. I gave him my teddy bear. That made him glad.’
“Very good Lula! This is your very first story; I’m so proud of you!”
“I showed love Mama.”
“Yes you did, baby girl. You showed the little boy God’s love.”
Sarah buried her face in Mama’s arm, soaking up the praise and tucking each feeling and word into a safe place in her heart.
Time went on and each day would find Sarah displaying a variety of interests. She was “Miss Priss” when it was tea party time. Strapping on a toy gun belt and donning her black felt hat, she becomes the character “Jesse”, big brother to her own big brother.
Most days though, Sarah curled up in a quiet corner with her doll or favorite teddy bear. She would go for hours without speaking. Reality takes a back seat; time is an unknown thing. She is not psychotic however; she is simply filling up page after page, notebook after notebook with story after story. The only thing conscious to her mind is the aching grip her right hand is suffering. Real life and its troubles and triumphs were nonexistent as the frequently sharpened number two pencil traveled far too slowly across the blue lines.
Being a child was lovely and hopeful for Sarah; growing up was hard. However, with each step in life her love for words sometimes faded but was never completely lost. The passion for writing instilled in her as that first story took shape carried the power of a lifelong desire.
“Someday,” Sarah told her mother as young womanhood blossomed into her new world, “Someday, I want to write novels for the honor and glory of God.”
Mama chuckled. “Remember the first little story you wrote on those sticky notes? You’ve had that heart since you were so young.”
Sarah smiled in remembrance. “I was so excited that day; in many ways God used it to shape my life. I was writing stories when I was just learning to read them! And it has only begun. The journey of a thousand miles really does begin with a single step.
“Ah, sometime I need to write another little story of how it all began – a story about the first story I ever wrote.”
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