A tiny yellow flower wobbled atop a skinny stem pushing stubbornly through a crack in the unyielding pavement. I stopped to look at it, admiring its tenacity to sprout in such a hostile environment. I glimpsed hope in its brave stretch toward the sun. Could my dream of writing ever grow amid the relentless emotional abuse and humiliation I lived with every day? Could the seed of my creativity find a way to bloom in the dark?
During the years when I was raising children and trying to survive in a dysfunctional marriage, my writing ambitions were buried under constant struggles. As I limped from one crisis to another, my dreams faded from neglect. Whatever efforts I made to write were quickly crushed and ridiculed by my husband. He felt threatened by any personal pursuits I might have. In his version of marriage there was room for only one person to shine, and that was him.
He did not succeed in completely stamping out the writer in me. I wrote often in my journal as a way to process my emotions. I wrote letters to friends and family. I even invented a game with my children where we wrote stories together. When I accepted Jesus into my life, I realized it was He who gave me the gift of writing. That is why the dream of being a writer never left me. As the giver of the gift, He would not let it die.
Eventually, my children and I were left more on our own as my husband chased his selfish pursuits. Although his neglect created new stress, his absence gave me time and freedom to begin writing for publication. The few of my articles accepted, and writing contests I won bolstered my depleted confidence, yet I felt guilty for keeping these small successes from my husband. When I finally told him, he insisted the only writing I should do was for his business, developing brochures and newsletters. According to him, personal creative writing stole from his income.
I quit writing for publication and contests, but I still wrote in private. It was impossible for me not to write at all. The deep joy and fulfillment I experienced as I wrote could only come from God, who created me to write for Him. Time I spent reading His Word gave me limitless inspiration and material to write about.
When my marriage reached its breaking point after numerous betrayals and emotional abuse, writing was a lifeline for me. I poured out my heart in my journal where I could honestly express my deepest struggles and emotions without being judged.
Through this traumatic time God taught me deep truths about Himself that I would not trade for any number of easier days. Often my journal entries began with angry rants or great sadness, but in the process of writing down my feelings, the hurt and anger gradually transformed into prayers of gratitude and devotion. When I surrendered my circumstances to Almighty God, I knew I could trust Him to work them out for His good purposes.
Those days are now a distant memory. Eventually I married a godly man who wholeheartedly supports my call to write. He encouraged me to publish a recently released book in which lessons I learned in the hard times show up in many of the devotional pieces.
Whenever I see a flower growing out of a crack in the pavement I think about the tenacity of God-given hope. His purposes for the gift He has given us will not be set aside. Even if buried for a time, He keeps alive our desire to exercise and enjoy the gift, like a small seed buried under the pavement. Reaching for His light, it will bloom again.




