by Annie Glasel
The story goes something like this.
There lived this woman who always wanted to be a writer. But her life was filled up with being a wife, mother of small children, daughter of aging parents, a good friend to many and a faithful lady of the church.
One year, after her children became more self-sufficient, she set up her dusty typewriter on the formal dining room table. And she began to write. Next to her sat a box labeled “Published Work”. Through the years, the children saw her put various paper into the box. They asked to see and she said “later.”
Years went by and the women died. Her children came to ask where did her mother’s writings go? As far as they knew, her mother’s by-line was never in print. So they opened the box. In it were years of correspondence from those who had been blessed by her mother’s writing – personal letters of encouragement, words of faith, etc. The thank yous testified of her “published work”.
I can’t remember the magazine that published this article. I only remember mocking that woman. My first thought is — how pitiful; she can’t get published in the “real world” so her consolation prize was “thank you’s” from nobodies.
Today as I write this, I am ashamed of my attitude. Writing for God is not about the vanity of being published. Writing for God is about using the words that He gives as dews of life – ministering to those in need.
My family has not yet entered the digital age of emails and I find that our conversations on the phone are too rushed. Thus, I have begun to write/print evangelical letters to them. In these letters, I find that God’s purpose for me as a writer is finally being fulfilled.
I think of that woman this morning and am compelled to say: “thank you, nameless saint” for showing me that letters are writings that only God can publish.
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