Morning Birth | Previous Challenge Entry

how it works

TITLE: Morning Birth | Previous Challenge Entry
By LeslieJean Anderson
08/24/17
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The hardest part of my day is getting out of bed in the morning. I desperately need a reason. For many years, it was hungry children. After that, it was getting to work on time so we could eat. In later years, it was caring for my ailing husband - a good, kind man. Then he died and I retired. After that, I had no reason to get up anymore.

I don’t remember feeling so bedridden when I was younger. Quite the opposite - I remember early mornings of joy and happy anticipation. However, something changed on the day my young mother’s tender heart was crushed like a ripe apple bludgeoned with a hammer. My reaction that day was torrents of projectile tears and thoughts of bridge-jumping. That terrible day belongs to an ex-husband.

God Himself had to pull me from that torrential flood of dangerous despair, setting me on dry land surrounded by little children and a plan of escape. But for years after that, only out-loud prayers enabled me to dig my way out of bed, usually before daylight, and always with pain in my muscles, joints and sinews. I would lean against the wall, aching, hurting and throbbing. I’d never known chronic pain before that time. But it still plagues me, even today.

So, when the day finally came that I awoke - alone - to a quiet and empty house, I was tempted to not get up. Ever. I remember thinking, “Why do I have to get up? I’m lonely, and nobody needs me. Everything hurts when I move. I can sleep on forever, if I want to, curled up in my warm little blanket-nest.”

That was when I heard God’s words in my heart: Go to your computer and write.

So, I got up, took some aspirin for my aches and pains and sat down at my computer. Not knowing what to do at first, I wandered the Internet. Somehow, I landed on a website called FaithWriters.com. They had a weekly writing challenge that didn’t sound too hard. I could weave my love and dependence on God into some poetry and stories. Maybe that’s what He wanted me to do when He told me to get up and write.

I loved God. He’d saved me. Restored me. Redeemed me. Rescued my children. I knew I could fight through the agony of getting up if He wanted me to write stories that showcased His mercy and love.

So I tried it. People read my first story and left encouraging comments. That was very nice. I put the FaithWriters weekly Challenge deadline on my calendar and felt driven to meet that deadline every week.

Then I began waking up with story ideas, and even poetry. Forcing myself through the fog of arising, I shuffled to the computer every morning to write the ideas down before they fled my muddled brain.

The stories began piling up on my desk. I put them in a folder. Then I put them in a notebook. I began sending them to people. I began wondering if I should send them to a publisher.

One day I woke up with the thought, “It’s time to go back to school.” Me? At my age? Is that God’s idea or mine? It couldn’t be mine. It’s too hard. Too much effort. Too much money. I’m too old. But the thought would not go away. Finally, I thought, “If it’s a God-message, the way will open up. I’ll just apply. No harm in that.”

Well, the way opened up. Soon I had many deadlines on my calendar. Eight hundred painful mornings later, I had a new degree framed on my wall. It was then that I resumed my FaithWriters weekly Challenge.

I began to get up earlier and earlier to write. It was still a struggle, but now I had a reason to suffer through the first hour of awakening. People were requesting my poetry. Responding to my stories. And I began thinking about writing a book.

Now, when I first wake up in the morning, I see possibilities and promises instead of pain. It’s sort of like childbirth every new and beautiful morning. I know I can push through the pain because I can’t wait to experience the joy I feel when I’m writing for God.

725 words This story is creative nonfiction

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