Why does anyone write? Most writers have no assurance anyone really is interested in what they write, so why bother? After all, there are only a very few people who can actually make a comfortable living out of writing. There are even fewer who can become rich, famous and successful by putting words on paper. Most people, both in history and in contemporary society, who write have to do something else to pay the bills. So, why write?
Writers write because they have something to say that they must commit to some permanent form. It does not really matter if anyone wants to read what they write or not. It matters even less if anyone is willing to pay them money for what they write. What matters is that they get their thoughts, their ideas, their heart and soul and mind on paper, or, these days in some electronic media. If anyone chooses to read it, that is a bonus. If anyone appreciates what is written, that is even more of a bonus. And if someone pays them for it, that’s nice, too. But these are not the things that motivate serious writers. Serious writers write because they have no choice.
I have no choice but to write these words. They are inside me screaming to get out, and I must let them out. I cannot hold them back any more than a volcano can hold back the spewing lava within it. If no one ever reads what I write, I will still have done what I set out to do, to set down words that describe the thoughts that are within me.
I have been on this earth more than sixty years as I begin this writing, and that is a long time. But it is not really a long time; one thing I have learned in these sixty plus years is that this life is temporary, transient, so much like a vapor, here today, but not to be found tomorrow. Even my sixty years is but a nano-flash in the history of time.
It is because of the transitory nature of life, and the truth that my time on this earth is limited, that encourages me to express as much as I can of myself in writing. Perhaps someone will read something I wrote and be encouraged by it, or taught by it, or just pleased by it. Even one reader satisfied is worth the effort of writing.
It may seem strange to some that I would want to write about God and how He is revealed in my life, which is what most of my writing does express. After all, should I not prefer to record what I have done? Would I not want others to understand what great things I did? I answer, “No!” And I answer that way simply because I have not done anything significant on my own. Nor could I. Nor can anyone. Humans do not handle life very well. It is too big, too demanding, but also way too fragile for our hands to deal with. We need God’s hands. He Who created life is the only One qualified to live it. He has chosen to live His life through His children; I am one of His children. And that is what I will spend the rest of my years on this earth writing about, whether anyone reads it or not.
PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR,
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