When I was asked to write a blog about how I wrote A Christian Memory for The WordPlayers, one of my first thoughts was to say I can’t take credit for writing this myself. On the other hand, do I dare to be presumptuous enough to say that I feel God wrote this through me? That I was only a willing vessel?
If I say I feel this play was divinely inspired, I say it with the utmost humility. I am amazed and intrigued to think that God could use me. But the words that flowed from my pen that day challenged me, brought me to tears, and made me shiver. Was the script that came something the Lord wanted to say to me… to us… in such a time as this?
“Do you have anything for Christmas?” came the question from Jeni.
“No… but I can try,” I tentatively reply.
I have an idea … I write one page … weeks pass … at this rate Christmas will be here and gone … I decide to sit myself down and write … something … anything …
“God, I’ll take care of the quantity, You take care of the quality.”*
This was my prayer as I picked up my pen and ran my hand over a blank sheet of paper.
It is 10:00 am when I sit down to write. The phone rings… of course… a distraction before I’ve even written a word. It is my Mom.
“What cha doin’?”
“Trying to write a play about Christmas. What do you think of this?”
I bounce my idea off of her. She likes it.
“You know there is such a thing as a Christian memory, you can google it,” she adds.
Suddenly the liquid thoughts in my brain begin to coalesce… to mingle and blend… combine and fuse.
“Mom, that’s it! You just gave me the title of my play, A Christian Memory! Remember Truman Capote’s famous short story, turned play, turned television show, A Christmas Memory? I couldn’t ask for a better “play” on words! I have to start writing!”
It is almost 10:30 … Lord, you take care of the quality, I’ll take care of the quantity …
I begin to write and my pen will not move fast enough. I am plugged in, riding the wave … I feel like I am a vessel, a conduit. I scrawl with my pen across the lines until my wrist aches. I switch to the keyboard and type as fast as I can, trying to keep up with the flow of words as they spill out.
I glance at the clock, it is 3:00. I haven’t stopped in over four hours. I pry myself away for a quick break, eat a sandwich, let the dogs out. Then back to the script. At 6:00 as I am typing the last few lines I hear the garage door go up. The dogs start barking and run to greet my husband. I type in the last “BLACK-OUT”, but I am not finished yet… I hit the return bar a couple of times and center three words…
Soli Deo Gloria!
To God alone be the glory!
*The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron