Iím struggling. My mind searches for words to say but repeatedly comes up blank. My thumb rubs over the button of my pen and presses it down.
I press it again so that the inky point disappears back into its plastic hull.
I continue this pattern, absently pushing the button up and down, up and down with my thumb.
Click, clack. Click, clack. Click, clack.
Ideas dart in and out of my head as quickly as the retreating pen point, as I try to settle on one that will work.
ďMan, what do I do?Ē I say aloud to the wall of my room.
This is unlike me. I am the queen of letter writing. Well, I write a lot of letters anyway. Long ones too. Usually Iíll have composed a seven to ten page piece of correspondence before the envelope is licked and in the mailbox.
Iíve been asked before when hurrying to finish a letter before the mailman arrives or the post office closes, ďWhy write a letter when you could just e-mail them?Ē
To which Iíll respond, ďWell, itís just more fun, sometimes, to write letters.Ē
And it is. Thereís something special and personal about getting away from a computer screen, grabbing a colorful pen and a sheet of stationary, and writing to your heartís content.
But this time is different. This time Iím not writing to a fellow Christian, a believer who shares my values and beliefs. Today Iím writing to family members. Yep, family members who donít know the Lord, who donít understand what I mean when I say things like, ďGod spoke to me in an awesome way the other day!Ē Theyíve never heard His voice, never felt His tugging on their heart Ė His urging them to let Him into their lives.
So what do I do?
ďI know they wonít persecute me for my beliefs,Ē I say out loud again, ďand I would still be unashamed of my relationship with the Lord if they did. But Iím not trying to impress them and I donít want to push them away with phrases that they donít understand. They simply donít know what Iím talking about. Theyíll read it because itís from me, but they probably wonít think about it more deeply than, ĎOh thatís sweet.íĒ
I glance up at the Scripture verses, quotes, and clippings taped to the cupboard door on my desk. My eyes rest on the one cut from a Voice of the Martyrs envelope, the black ink letters having been outlined by me with a turquoise gel pen, ďGOD WILL USE YOU MIGHTILY.Ē I cut out the phrase earlier this year because it encouraged me. It reminds me that God will work through me in ways that I cannot even imagine if I am sold out completely to Him.
I speak aloud once more, but this time not to myself, ďLord, I want that phrase to be true of me. I donít know what to say to reach them, and I donít know if theyíll even listen to me, but please just let me be myself. I want to write to them the way I would to anyone else, and I pray that you will use the seeds of my letters to spring forth fruit in their hearts. Please ... use me.Ē
I pick up my purple gel pen again and press down the button. In my neat cursive handwriting I begin to write:
Dear Grandma and Grandpa,
Youíve been on my mind a lot recently so I thought Iíd send you a little note. God has been doing amazing things in my life lately and I wanted to share them with you ...
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