My second grade teacher walked over to the blackboard and pointed to a picture that was taped to it. "When you finish your morning work, I want you to write a story about this picture." A strange little thrill went through me when she said those words. A story! How I loved stories! I was always making up stories in my head that my little friends and I would act out and if they were not available, my dolls and stuffed animals would take their place.
The picture was of a little girl sitting at a desk in a classroom. Next to the desk was a little dog. As I looked at the picture, a story began to form in my mind. Suddenly the little girl, the dog and her unseen teacher had names. I knew exactly how the dog got into the classroom and what was going to happen next. Eager to set down the words on paper, I quickly turned my attention to my morning work and soon completed it.
I turned in my work and grabbed a fresh sheet of lined paper. I paused for a moment, with my pencil hovered over it. Then I began to write.
My story was selected by my teacher to be used as an example of a "good" story. Then it got placed in a prominent position on the bulletin board so that everyone could see it. My mother still that smudged and faded piece of paper tucked away in a small cedar chest in the attic along with letters written to her by my father before they were married. There would be other stories.
I had to switch keyboards a few months ago with another one that we just happened to have lying around. My old keyboard was covered with deep impressions from my fingers and it had simply given out on me. The "new" one, while it was definitely not new, was in better condition. I am doing my best to remedy that and deep grooves and scratches from my fingers are already starting to appear on the keys.
I may not use a pencil or pen anymore or write stories but my love affair with painting pictures with words has never changed. The sight of a clean white computer screen excites me just as much as a clean sheet of lined paper did so long ago. It is who I am, how God created me to be. It is the gift He gave to me.
It is so easy to look at the gifts God gave to others and believe that He gave none to you or that your "gifts" are mediocre at best. Nothing God does is mediocre. We are custom-made by God, designed according to His purpose. May we use the gifts/talents He has given us for His glory.
Photo Credit: ©digitalart/freedigitalphotos.net
I don't remember the first story I wrote, but I do remember the prompting stimulus that wooed me into my love affair with writing. It was a "beautiful" pencil box given to me by my mother for my birthday when I was 9 or 10 years old.
It was the most beautiful shade of green that I had ever seen -- and have not seen a shade of green to this day in anything manufactured as lovely as this shade of the pencil box. Of course, inside was a goldmine of writing goodies that intrigued me all the more. I simply couldn't wait to put them to use, then enclose them in the "sacred" box given to me from my mother. I weep as I write this, because of the love I felt from my mother as she gave it to me; the memory of that gift and how happy it made me has lingered with me all of my life.
I love this blog so much and for a host of reasons; too many to write, because it has welled up within me some of the greatest memories of my childhood! Thank you for sharing this wonderful, wonderful story.