Buried Treasure

Hmmm...
How do I want to start this one?

I think I have about three different drafts sitting on my computer - false starts and half written posts that well, for some reason or another fell short of me either finishing or hitting that bright ominous orange button on the top right corner of my screen... the one that reads "Publish."

Scatterbrained. This seems to be my ailment of late. An ailment that is quite uncharacteristic. In general I'm usually never at a loss for words (yikes... should I actually be telling you this? True confessions I guess...). I usually know exactly what I want to say and how I want to say it. Or if I don't, it doesn't take me too long to figure it out.
But lately I've been finding it so hard to focus. Could it be the out-of-this-world weather we've been experiencing here in Seattle? Perhaps. Could it be my severe case of "senior-itis" as I count down the days till Ryan and I leave for our Honeymoon to Croatia? Probably. Or could it be the enormous distraction of online shopping for my trousseau, a.k.a. Euro summer wardrobe, that's inhibiting my brain from formulating any sort of organized coherent thought? Well... yeah.

And yet lately something deep within me is crying out. A desire. A dream. It bubbles up at least once a week. And my confession? My embarrassing admission? I've so squashed it down that I hardly recognize it when it struggles to swim to the surface through the busyness of my distracted life.

What is this part of my heart that yearns to be acknowledged? The talent that desires to be unearthed? The thing that I feel most compelled to do, as if my breath, my being depended on it?

TO WRITE.

Anything. Everything. A babbling of words vomited on the page or screen. Nonsense. Literary garbage. Nothing remotely worth clicking the ominous orange button. But it must be done. I'm compelled to do so however much I fight it. And sometimes I do...

I've been reading this book.
It's one of those books.
You know... the ones that kinda creep you out because no one could know so exactly what's been going on in your mind, heart and life. And yet every single time you pick it up you feel as if that writer had stollen your journal or installed a secret baby-cam in your home. Like I said, this is one of those books.

Freefall to Fly is a beautiful book. I mean the cover?! The Robin's-egg blue. The whimsical font. It looks like it'd fit perfectly on a shelf at Anthropologie. DONE. Sold. I'll read it. Or at least start to read it. Another confession: I'm a serial book starter, but have a hard time making it to the finish line.
But Rebekah Lyon's words are just as, if not more beautiful and enticing than the cover of her book.

Here's a little excerpt that speaks so much to what I've been experiencing the past few weeks:

"What were my earliest joys and natural bents? What were the birthright gifts I'd seen show up over and over again in my timeline of years? No one really knows if these gifts come from our genes or our experiences. We tend to ponder our aptitudes alone or with those we love and who love us, feeling guilty for even suggesting the idea.

Me? Talented? Am I even allowed to think about such things?

But if God has buried in each of us good gifts, doesn't it follow that He desires for us to use them? To ignore these gifts or fail to develop them, it seems, would be to bury our treasure..."

The funny thing is as long as I can remember I've always wanted to be a writer. I wanted a ranch in Montana with a little white farm house, a big porch and that was where I was going to write. It's one of my earliest dreams that I can remember having. And I don't really know where it came from. I have stacks of notebooks full of ramblings, screenplays, ideas, schemes and dreams that no one was allowed to read except myself. If anything comes close to a "birthright gift" I think this is it. And I don't want to bury this treasure anymore. I want to invest it. I want to develop it. I want to use it to bring God glory.

I want to write.

So I guess I should just do it, huh? Even if it's complete garbage. Practice makes perfect right?

What are your birthright gifts? What were you created to do? What desires have you been squashing down with busyness? Don't bury your treasure. Don't be afraid to hope and dream. If you trust the Lord He will make a way for that treasure to flourish and grow.

Cheers!

Jessika