Why I must write
Take a moment to recall a book, essay or poem that impacted your life. That work of writing you look back on with perpetual fondness or awe …
For me it was the Hobbit by John Ronald Reuel Tolkien. I was probably around nine years old and that fable took me on a most wonderful journey into realms of imagination that were, up to that point, unknown to me.
As a child of course, imagination was a huge part of my life, but my made-up worlds paled into comparison to what Tolkien had built. It was like only having known strawberry, vanilla and chocolate ice-cream flavours and then walking into a gelateria and being assailed with 36 different, colours, textures, tastes and smells.
At the end of the Hobbit, I was a nine year old that had been changed forever. I had discovered the power of words and the power of story, and I never looked back.
Stories have been an indelible part of human history for as long as we have existed. Even the word History itself testifies to this. God himself is the original and ultimate Author and the story of our spiritual heritage goes back in written form for over six thousand years.
It only take a few words arranged in just the right way to change the course of history and impact generations. A few examples :
The Gettysburg Address by Abraham Lincoln was only 272 words long.
Winston Churchill’s famous We Shall Fight on the Beaches section of his wartime speech was less than 300 words.
The Lord’s Prayer is only around 70 words long, and the preamble to the Declaration of Independence by Thomas Jefferson was under 100 words.
How about this complete short story (attributed to Earnest Hemingway) of only six words …
For sale: baby shoes, never worn
For some, like me, a single story triggered new worlds and became a unmistakable encapsulating of my childhood with the infinite wonders of possibility.
For others, it may have been even just a single sentence or phrase that gave them hope in times of darkness or discouragement. Or a prompting during a crossroads in life to take a path less travelled, or to propel them on a singular quest that would fulfil the deepest ache of their heart.
The Hobbit was published in 1937 and Tolkien passed away when I was only three years old.
There are words not yet written and people not yet born, that will intersect powerfully in ways we can never imagine.
I don’t have the answer as to why God has chosen this time and place for me to continue my writing adventures and I’m OK with that. But what I do know, is that I want to be God’s willing servant to create stories that are infused with life. That strangers I will never meet, in places I will never tread, will read a few short words that will wrap them in hope for their perilous journey ahead.