There is an ‘About Me’ page, but let’s be honest, they’ can be a bit boring can’t they? Like with a C.V., one tries to sound so very interesting and sensible. But who really cares about an author’s academic credentials, the church ministries they’ve been involved in, what kind of pets they have and what they do to keep fit?
Here is the real me:
Well…I can’t do it. I cannot close my eyes and instantly hear from the Lord, like so many people seem to be able to do effortlessly in intercession groups. I hate those moments. The leader inhales deeply and announces,
“Okay, we’re going to spend some time in silence and listen to what the Holy Spirit is saying to us. Then we are going to share what we heard.”
Oh boy. This is the time I glean my greatest business ideas, remember the crazy dream I had the night before, and wonder what that tiny black mark is on the carpet. Without my glasses on, every dark speck looks like a woodlouse and I’ve been known to swat sock fluff thinking it was a spider.
While every holy human screws their eyes tightly shut, I squirm in my seat and wonder how long it takes a crawling insect in the corner of the room, to reach the table, ascend the leg and wander across to my bible. Would it start nibbling the word of God while I’m receiving divine revelation?
I shift, twist and drum my fingers on my mouth, trying to concentrate. Nothing. All I hear is the clock ticking – a dreaded reminder that in 4 minutes, we’re all going to awaken from our heavenly stupor and smile sweetly, delighted at what insights God has revealed to our spirits – all except mine.
“Right everyone, time’s up. Who wants to go first?”
As an enlightened saint begins to expound the sacred whispers she’s heard in her ear, accompanied by glorious interpretation, everyone listens intently, marvelling at the analogy of a flowing fountain, symbolising…I don’t know what…I’m distracted.
I panic as I notice the woodlouse has disappeared. I’m not scared of them, but I like them to keep their distance. Afterall, I’m not a decomposing plant. I don’t have a rotting wooden leg. I’m not wet, damp, or the slightest bit humid, but they annoy me the way they just turn up by my feet at the oddest of times.
I’m annoyed with myself. Why can’t I just concentrate? It was in one of these moments when I decided that I am going to be open with my readers. I might have written godly books to share with those in need of encouragement, but I am not that well put-together myself.
We are all on a journey and it often seems that while others are dashing past us, some of us are barely crawling. It is for the crawlers I like to write. I identify with them more than the successful champions of this planet. If that’s you, on all fours, weighted down with rocks, when your bones get sore, I hope that something you read will be like soothing ointment for your knees, and a deep tissue massage for your back as you fling those burdens off your shoulders.
The rest of you may feel far superior to my long-term foibles for it to nessitate the desire to read any excerpts. You consider my confessions of weakness to be tantamount to ‘the blind leading the blind’, and are off to find a more stable author.
It’s great that you are still here. Look at Psalm 136 with me for a moment. Notice that it says nothing about me being strong, wise and faithful. On the contrary, I can be feeble, foolish and forgetful of saying grace over my morning porridge. But you see, these books are not about me – they are about the One who loves me and thee, inspite of our failings.
Throughout my chapters, you will find someone who accurately fits the description from that Psalm:
“His faithful love endures forever.“
And that is why I like to write – to remind you and me that he is not only able to remove that heavy burden from our shoulders, but is willing to run the distance with us, no matter how far we fall short of the mark.
When the prayer meeting finished, (I confessed I had nothing to share, but tried to look immensely spiritual about it) I spotted the woodlouse again. I searched in my pocket for a tissue so that I could put it in the bin. Lunging at it firecely, I shouted, “Gotcha!”
This came out louder than it was mean to. A girl who had witnessed everything, looked at me quizically and said,
“Sharon…why are you talking to a pumpkin seed?”
I hope you find a book that suits you.
Thanks again for stopping by. (click here for ‘About Me’ video)
