I have written about this before but feel compelled to set pen to virtual paper again and explore further why I choose to take time to write.
Words fascinate me.
They have the power to change minds, hearts, lives and nations.
But my aspirations and intentions are a little more lowly than national upheaval or universal transformation.
I write because I can’t dance. Or sing. Or play an instrument. Or fix things.
I write because I am a writer.
The very exercise of digging to determine the why of something is interesting. It led me to the point today where I simply asked, “Why does there need to be a why for everything?”
Is sheer enjoyment, delight in the moment, not enough reason in itself for the activities we were born to explore?
Does a child ask themselves the deep motive behind the latest LEGO tower or truck they constructed?
Sure, there is a reason and purpose behind all that we do, but it is those things that we would do anyways, sans reason, that indicate most clearly what we were born for.
My wife cannot not dance.
The singer cannot not sing.
It is an an expression of life.
Unique. Childlike. Planted by Papa or bring joy to His heart, and delight to our own.
Why do I write? You better ask Him. He is the One who planted the desire.
Psa. 37:4 Delight yourself also in the LORD,
And He shall give you the desires of your heart.
What has the Father given you?
Unashamedly give expression to it. Let it flow like a river from your inner being. You need no other reason beyond His delight.
Sing that song. Play that tune. Paint that picture. Write that poem.
Papa’s smile is enough!