There is a heart drawn around Monday’s date on my calendar. February 12, 2018. The day I typed “The End”.
The day started out much like any other typical Monday. The Missouri Ozarks outside my window lay blanketed in ice. From the grass to the treetops, everything glistened in the early morning sunlight. I burrowed under my fleece blanket and sipped on my coffee. Today was the day. I could feel it.
My fingers itched to type the final words. My heartbeat pounded with eagerness to discover how my story would conclude. Even I didn’t know for sure until I got there. “The End” even surprised me.
I’ve been working on this story for the last 4 months. It hasn’t been easy, I’ll admit. The struggle is real, friends. There were plenty of times where I wanted to go to bed early, or chill and watch Netflix, or read a book from my overcrowded bookshelf. There were several nights I barely squeaked out any words at all. A tug of war raged on my heart during those months. Any author I’m sure can testify to the same. Set yourself a goal and countless obstacles and distractions will pop up out of nowhere.
But praise be to God alone, He kept calling me back. Into this story. Into His word. Into prayer.
That’s the only way I made it to “The End”.
It was all Him.
This is my fourth time typing “The End” and each one has been sweet in its own way. However, that final moment on Monday was something special.
The baby girl was down for her nap. My hubby, who had been cheering me on every day, was gone at work. The house was quiet. I was alone.
As I wrote my way through those final scenes, I confess I was a little bummed to think no one would be here to celebrate with me once I reached the finish line. After all those months writing, I’d be alone in that final moment. What a shame, I thought.
I was wrong.
As those final words poured onto the paper – or screen, rather – something happened. Something stirred within me. The Lord opened my eyes.
I stared at those final words and realized they were meant for me. God’s reminder to my own heart. I sat there with tears in my eyes. This season of work was done, but God’s work in me is far from over. I’m still a novel in progress myself.
I dropped to my knees, beyond humbled that the Author of life gave me a pen to write stories.
The stillness in that moment was more than I expected. Worshipful. Perfect. Priceless.
I finally saw what the Lord had planned all along. He’d silenced the house so I could share that sweet moment with Him. Just the two of us.
The rest of the day followed with more celebration, of course. I texted my hubby, my mom, my critique partners. When my one-year-old woke up from nap, I gave her a high five in her crib. The two of us may or may not have even danced a little in the kitchen later that afternoon. 😉 My heart was light and my feet floated on air.
God’s message to me through this story of mine amazes me still. Only He knows if it will ever see the daylight of publication, but this much I do know…..
Those final words shot truth like an arrow to my heart.
I’m so grateful that I had that moment alone with Him first. Before I shared my delight with anyone else, He was there, smiling down on me.
I sat there in my living room on cloud nine in a glorious mix of awe and tears. Not because my story is that out-of-this-world incredible, but because His faithfulness once again shined through. He never once let go of my hand through the hard work of this project.
In the end, He spoke through my characters to remind this aspiring author of His goodness and grace.
That’s what I loved most about reaching “The End”. I found Him there.
A discovery that never gets old.