Writing in the Sacred Space by Sharon Heagy

As I snuggled down among the bedclothes not quite ready to leave that sleepy half-awake state, a thought came to my brain. It's Mother's Day. The airwaves and social media had been bombarding our thoughts since Easter, spouting ideas and filling mothers brains with visions of lovely Sunday brunches full of pastel colours, cloth napkins, real silverware and well dressed, perfectly behaved young children in glass walled restaurants where the sunlight beams in with heavenly rays, when what moms really want is a nap. I found out recently that many a mom would like to check into a hospital, just for a day or two, not to be sick but to have some rest and be served meals that someone else cooked. And even though that is not the reality of hospital life any more than a perfect Sunday Brunch, it gave me solace to know that I wasn't the only one who had that thought cross their mind when life with kids got crazy.

Mother's Day for many means choking down burnt toast and scrambled eggs, with a few crunchy shells thrown in for good measure, while wide eyed, expectant, flannel clad children look on as Mom, who may be riding post birth waves of hormonal instability, takes those first few bites of an almost inedible breakfast made with love. With a few gulps of coffee to wash it down and regain use of her vocal cords she announces, "It's wonderful. Thank you so much! I love it." The chubby cheeked cherubs break out in ear-to-ear smiles, relieved that Mom is loving their feast. Before she can clear her plate the kids are bringing out homemade artistic gifts from the cut and paste club, where more paint and glue stick to clothes and hair and hands than to paper. And the drawings! A wee bit Picasso and a wee bit 'what on earth is that' which, now that I think of it, is much like some Picassos. Mothers must develop an ability to discover the intention of their young artists without causing distress and unhappiness and ruining their, I mean her, day. 

For many, this day of recognition is wonderful and welcome, for others it is a day to be endured and for some it is a day filled with sorrow. Yet, all these reactions come from a place of love. Whether it be a longing to share love, a love that has been lost or a love that stands beside the bed wide eyed. And all of it comes from God, who is Love.

When I popped awake that morning a few weeks ago, I realized that writing doesn't always need a specific place or time. In fact, I was amazed that my brain was firing at all in those early moments. The hamster that runs the wheel in my head hadn't even had breakfast and my desk in the basement was basking in a sunbeam dust dance.

Even as I write this post, I am not in the familiar surroundings of my own house or town but I am in the big city watching over my grandchildren. It had me a bit worried to be honest. The pressure of a deadline in the uncertainty of life on a different schedule had me slightly nervous. But what I am finding is, it is good to write in unfamiliar places with fresh perspectives. It is a good exercise, not to be feared but embraced!

The kids and I were walking home from the store and were taking a shortcut down the lane when we came across a pile of dirt and a ladder on the lane side of a fence. I asked them to make up a story about the ladder and the dirt, which both seemed to be in odd spots. Why was the dirt not closer to the gate? And why was the ladder there? It seemed to have no purpose whatsoever in the place it had been set. We could not see through the fence to see what was on the yard side that might explain this mystery. They came up with a few ideas as I encouraged them to go beyond the obvious and use their brilliant imaginations. While listening to them, my own mind was swirling with possibilities that would somehow connect to Jacob's ladder. 

Heading home after walking the youngest to school, I was forced from the sidewalk by a bike gang and was almost attacked by some of the wildlife in this city! Ok, really there was just one kid on a bike and I stepped out of his way and the wildlife was a single rabbit. But the ideas were there. 

The ideas will come wherever your brain goes. Recall all the places Paul wrote. He wrote while travelling, while ministering and while in prison. The nudges and notions will come wherever Love lives, which is everywhere. He who is not bound by time or space can take whatever we encounter and turn it into a piece for His purposes. Though I know this, it still comes as a revelation after being told to set up a specific space for my creative juices to flow. It seems to me now that both are true and if both these things are possible, how many more wonderful pieces will be added to the puzzle of writing as God leads.

I still prefer to write in the sacred basement space but I am coming to realize wherever I am is sacred because He is there. Thanks be to God. 

Sharon Heagy writes from the wonderful town of Rockglen, Saskatchewan where she lives with her husband, a big dog and furry cats. She writes to bring hope and humour to a world that needs both. She can be reached at sharonheagy@gmail.com 

Thanks for taking the time to visit today. God bless.