There is an old Sunday School song I grew up with, one that I can still recall, complete with church-appropriate hand motions (because dancing is wrong but motioning that something is gushing out of you is holy). It goes like this:
I've got a river of life flowing out of me,
Makes the lame to walk and the blind to see!
Opens prison doors sets the captives free
(youth groups love to squeeze in a little
shout of "I'm free!" here)
Oh, I've got a river of life flowing out of me!
I always liked songs that were upbeat and especially gave me the chance to stand up and move around a little. (I'm in the Lord's Army was another gem.) But as I get older, as time and experience, and yes, even Jesus, transform me, I find that the message in this simple song rings true.
When I was young and singing this song heartily with other kids, I was one of those captives. I was held in by shame and fear, so painfully shy and uncomfortable with myself. I went into my head, into my imagination, and I pretended I was whole and free. Having no idea what the real thing felt like, I convinced myself that what I was able to dream up was enough.
I made up stories and began to write them down. I imagined that someday I might even make a living as a writer, like the still, smiling photographs on the backs of my novels. They were calm and happy, and most importantly, grown up. If I could be like them, then I maybe I wouldn't be me anymore.
But everyone said it was impractical to try to write fiction, and even if I could block out the pragmatist in my head who stomped on those childhood dreams, what would I even write about? What did I know? What could I give? What could I write that would make a difference?
Marriage and motherhood cracked my heart wide open, and I began to see little streams of ideas. I started writing again, writing what was in my imagination but also in my heart. One day, I conjured a woman, a character. She was full of shame and hiding in her life. (Hey, write what you know.) She needed love to transform her, to set her free from her invisible shackles.
And so I wrote the first part of a novel. I set it aside to welcome my third child, and over the course of his first year of life, I experienced the transformation that she and I were both desperate for. I finally had the courage and the support to voice my shame, to let go of my fears, and to finally start to find peace with myself. When I sat down again to work on the story, I couldn't believe how parallel our lives were, me and this imaginary woman.
Soon, the ideas began bursting like popcorn in my mind. With three children to take care of, it is slow work to put pen to paper (yes, I write my first drafts longhand). But I finally know what I'm about. I am about redemption.
This is what I know, because this is what I've lived. A life that is not pretending, but really being lived free. It is the gift I want to give my characters. More importantly, it is the gift I want to give my readers. I want you to know that you don't have to hide. I want you to know that your past doesn't define you. I want you to know that you are not alone.
Someone tossed me the keys to open my prison doors and beckoned me to walk out, to live free. I want to write words that do the same for others. I want to shine light in the dark places and show you how to experience a river of life pouring out of you. Spring up, Oh well. (Goosh Goosh Goosh Goosh)
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