The Nice Chameleon

Once upon a time, long, long ago, my notebooks were my respite from a loud, confusing world. My hearing loss meant that people often sounded like they were speaking a foreign language; I could catch bits and pieces of what they were saying, but I had to reconstruct the rest based on sight, context, intonation. It was a lot of work. I was tired all the time. So when I would retreat to books, it was like I could finally wake up and come alive. And my notebooks—my journals—were where I could communicate to the world, at least in theory. In truth, I never published anything in those journals. But they were valuable for (among other things) the sense that I could articulate and communicate--something I never felt able to do in the Real World. The hearing loss was one issue, but there was also the truth that I have always been, and still am, very shy. I've learned to "fake it" over the years, of course. And my shyness can even seem to disintegrate among certain friends and

Several weeks ago, I was deep in prayer, and I asked God how I can best serve Him and the church. "Write," was the first word that came to my mind, a whisper in my thoughts. Did that come from God? From me? What's odd is that I was caught off-guard. For some reason, the idea of writing was a little shocking to me. I say "for some reason" because I've been a writer all my life. I've never made it big, though I've published a few things here and there, and for most of my career I've been a technical writer. Writing is like breathing for me. So why was I so shocked when the word "write" came to mind? I guess I thought my "role" would have something to do with music. Or teaching. Or speaking. I have skills in all those areas, and those areas just seem more ... I don't know, active . But I do know how to write, so I'll go with that. Immediately after this big revelation, my schedule went crazy. I suddenly had no tim