LESSONS WHILE WRITING

One learns a lot of lessons when they write a book:

When, where, and if to place a comma.

What parts of a story are intricate details, and which are more like bits of lovable, but unnecessary, fluff.

Which product names need italicizing.

Practical, important teachings of note, but one also learns a lot of messages that come with more depth, as well.

It doesn’t have to be perfect.

I need to make this for me, and not anyone else.

Some people aren’t going to like your work, and that’s ok.

Reframed has instructed me with these gems of knowledge, and so much more, but ultimately, I have gained the most strength and wisdom from my beloved characters themselves.

I once read a quote that stated something along the lines of, “to write, one only needs to break off pieces of themselves and give them names”. I have found that to be true in my writing. Each character gets a little piece of me, for better or for worse. In Reframed:

Chet got my love of running, his devotion to his family, and his commitment.

Mari got…basically everything from me 😂 I didn’t mean for that to be the case, but, here we are. I am Mari, Mari is me, and we are one.

Mari’s less than sunny disposition on life? Mine. Mari’s need to do everything herself? Mine. Mari’s inability to let people in? Mine.

In every book I’ve written, I feel the Lord has used the words flowing from my fingers to do more than just create a story that I love. He also used it to help me to grow. The same lessons I instill into the characters? He is teaching me. We are learning right along side each other.

Which means, that as Mari had to learn to let people in, I too had to learn to let people in. And, I took that lesson about as well as Mari did 😂 Except, I took it a step further. Rather than just keeping other people out, I unintentionally pushed my Savior away.

Recently, my mental health has not been what it once was. I’m not sure if it is the stress of putting out a book, expectations of where I think my life should be, headaches from the horrible New Mexico wind, a combination of everything, or what, but I have been struggling. My mind has often felt like a swirling tornado of worries, on a warpath that could not, and would not, be stopped.

And I tried. I begged the Lord, truly begged Him, to help me. To stop it. To end my misery, or show me how to end it. And…nothing came. No help was rendered. The attacking thoughts continued, with no end in sight, leaving me to feel like I was truly and utterly alone.

So, like Mari, I buckled down and attempted to figure it out on my own. If my Savior wouldn’t help me, then I would just have to muddle through it all alone. I desperately did everything I could to try and control my racing thoughts, only to end up even more under the thumb of said thoughts. I was trapped in my own head, and honestly thought such was how the rest of my life was going to be.

In some of the truest depths of despair I have ever felt, I stumbled upon the verse in Luke 22, where the Savior is praying in the garden of Gethsemane. Here, He asks His Father to remove the cup placed before Him. However, when the request cannot be granted, He submits wholeheartedly to the Father He loves saying, “not my will, but thine, be done.” (Luke 22:24)

Those were the last words I wanted to utter. I wanted the trial to be taken away, not agree to more pain and torture. I didn’t think I could do it. However, at the end of my rope and with no where else to turn, and realizing that clinging to my fear with iron fists was getting me nowhere, I did my best to let go. I agreed to drink the cup if it could not pass from me.

And things got margianally better. But, they got exponentially better, when I decided to fully let Him in. Because, it became evidently clear that I did not trust my Savior anymore. I had locked Him out. I had pleaded on my knees for this cup to pass, and when it didn’t, I started to believe He couldn’t, or wouldn’t, heal me. Like Mari, I believed it was something I had been left to face by myself.

Wrong.

He couldn’t help me if I wouldn’t let Him, and the best way to let Him help me was to give Him the reins. To trust that He would and could heal me, even if it wasn’t in the way that I wanted.

So, I added to my prayer. Like the man with the sick child, I asked the Lord to help me with my unbelief (Mark 9:24). And He did. I began to believe the Savior could heal me, and He did.

Not in the way I wanted. The fear and worry and anxiety didn’t completely go away, but I was better equipped to handle it. I had physical hope and strength holding me up. And truthfully? I like it better that way. That control I was seeking against the crashing voices in my head? The Lord gave it to me, not by banishing them, but by teaching me how to fight them. He really did know what was best. He really did know what would help me the most.

(I also feel like it is really important to point out that when dealing with any kind of mental health struggle, it is important to seek help from all avenues. The Lord wants us to use all resources at our disposal. And now I will get off of my soap box 😉)

I have no doubt in my mind that there will come a time when the fight is hard again, and it is hard to know if He is there or listening or helping at all. But, I hope like Mari, that I will remember to let Him in. That I will recognize that asking for help is not a weakness, but a strength. That it is ok to be vulnerable with the Savior, and explain how we are feeling to Him, because doing so allows Him to work miracles.

I am so grateful for the lessons I have learned in writing, and that through Mari’s trials, I was able to grow closer to my Savior, too.

And I’m also grateful to Chet for teaching me how good Sonic Ocean Waters are 😉