When Letters Dance

As a child thirsts for water, so I thirsted after reading and writing. Who would have known that the rudiments of the ABC’s would blossom into a world of color? The lessons I learned at age five have served to bless me over and over again. Just as an artist brings color to a white canvas, so words brought color to my life. A splash of lavender purple for wishful dreams. A dot of deep blue for vivid thinking. A stroke of gentle pink for character building. It all blended together in a marvelous painting for a young girl like myself.

My exploration into the realm of reading and writing began at a young age, in the basement of my family’s home. I sang the ABC’s, memorized letter sounds—and began to read. I loved the way words rolled off my tongue. There was a beauty in the idea that letters could dance into words. And as they danced into words, I was captivated by the melody I heard. I can still remember my triumph one day when I read out loud to my father for the first time. I had been working through a children's version of Beauty and the Beast, and had finally managed to pronounce Lumiére correctly. I pulled him down beside me on the couch and read the short story to him. I can still remember his smile and fatherly pride as he congratulated me on my success. From that day forward, I was bent on pursuing words. I would find them, but it was not long before they started finding me. 

On my ninth birthday, my great aunt gifted me with a journal. We still have a photo of me, laying on my side, pencil grasped between my fingers. Before this, I had listened to the melody of words. Now, I was the composer. At first, things were quiet. I did journal once in a while, expressing my day’s occurrences. But in this season of life, I was far more busy with galloping away with my imagination. I preferred running through the yard with roaring lions and screeching monkeys in hot pursuit. Balancing on a lowline with crocodiles beneath tickled my fancy. My oak tree husband, Richard, was an amiable fellow with a charming smile and a daring heart. He never complained when I sat near his roots, leaned on his trunk and spoke about my day. My two younger sisters and I never ran out of rambunctious ideas, ready to fulfill our wild imaginations. To this day, I can never fully express how thankful I am for those years. Dreams were nurtured, creativity blossomed, and a world of possibilities opened for me. 

At age eleven, my mother decided it was time for me to begin school lessons in writing. We tried one online course, but, unfortunately, my mind could not grasp the upper middle grade concepts taught. Eventually, a writing tutor in our church offered to take me under her wing. From the very first lesson, things were noticeably different. She implemented the idea that writing should be fun, imaginative, and applicable. Under her tutelage, joy in writing sparked. Finally, I had found the true outlet to my imagination. Others could now imagine with me. They could leap into the same world I created.

My experiences as a reader and writer were most certainly beneficial. While not always the most perfect circumstances, they molded me into who I am today. Without these foundations beneath my feet, I would not be able to stand where I am. These experiences broadened and fed my hungry imagination. I can still look back and find my old stories from my very early teens. Sometimes I laugh. Sometimes I cry. But most times, I reflect on how far God has brought me. 

Today, I am still composing the music of words. Words still manage to find me, prodding and nudging until I write them down. I am a published author, with many future pieces in the refining state. I suppose I never really grew up. I still imagine—dreamily and sweetly. My imagination has only turned down a different river now. This river is strong and steady, often drifting my little raft through forests of unimaginable beauty or deserts of stinging sand. I can only say ‘all glory to God alone’. He gives inspiration and He takes it away. Reading and writing do still enthrall me, yet I am far more captivated by His holy beauty. I long to express this to a broken world. My mission is crystal clear. I must make Him known to the nations through my writing, so they may read, believe and tell of His justice and mercy at the cross.