My Eur-Ek-A moment by Melanie Fischer

My Eureka moment hasn’t really been “A moment”. It hasn't appeared in a flash of light, a flick of a switch or a bolt of reality. It has trickled in, and has come in three parts. 1.Eur 2.ek 3.a.

PART ONE

"Eur"…as in "yur a writer" 

Part one happened when I was about seven years old. 

I wedged my pale-blue-colored, Holly Hobby sticker-covered dresser into my bedroom doorway. I plunked a pile of scrap loose leaf and a jar of pencils on top. Mom’s manual typewriter weighed about as much as I did, but I managed to hoist it up on that writing surface. I then positioned a stack of side tables behind that chest of drawers and crawled up them. I popped open the typewriter cover, slid a pencil behind my ear, then declared my journalist’s office “open for business.”

That was when God told me “yur a writer.” It wasn’t for another 30 years that I would take Him seriously though. And why would I? Sure…I could type a line of “sdkfjlskjflkjldskjf” so fast that it would make those little metal arms jam together. But my English teachers certainly never took me serious. And this brings us to Part two.

PART TWO

"Ek"…pronounced "eeeeeek"

As for my English teachers, it was harder for them to make me write an essay than it was to get the gum off the bottom of the desks. I didn’t like structure. I didn’t like the rules of grammar and punctuation. And I certainly didn’t like writing what I was told to write. I protested against such controlled writing all the way to a solid “C”. A day came though—there was that list on the chalkboard under the heading “choose one of these people to write about.” As if it were flashing in neon lights, the name “Mozart” caught my immediate attention. As luck would have it, I was fascinated by this musical genius. I could hardly wait to sprint down to the library and take out every book I could find. I ate the history of Mozart for breakfast and poured out his story onto my scratch pad. With the confidence of a champion I handed in my completed work. 

I could hardly wait to get my grade back. I was more eager than a kid in the lineup to Splash Mountain. The day finally came. In traditional teacher fashion, she placed our assignments face down on each of our desks. I flipped those pages over to reveal…”Eeeeeek!” Instead of my anticipated A+++, the words written in red pen across my page said, “plagiarism is not acceptable.” I was a bit confused. I didn’t know what plagiarism was. I probably wasn’t paying attention in that class. Once I had it explained, I trucked back to the library, took all those books out once again, plopped them on my teacher’s desk, and told her as nicely as I possibly could that if she found a single sentence that I took out of any of those books I would accept an “F”. I ended up with my only A in that class!

Interesting enough, that false accusation of fraudulent activity didn’t discourage me from writing. It was simply a very loud “not yet.”

PART THREE

“A”…said like this “Ahhhhhh”

“Not yet” alright! And it wouldn’t be “yet” for another twenty years. Life took me on a detour through parenting, a career in science, some hobbies, many interesting experiences, lots of ups and downs, some self-discovery, and eventually into a relationship with Christ. 

And then. My path collided with desperation to understand my purpose. That was when the Lord began to rearrange my life and awaken my calling to write. Opportunities began to emerge and I was clocked on the side of the head with a resounding “Ahhhhhh…now it’s time!” 



As it turns out, if it wasn’t for all the "Eeeeeek's" between the “Yur” and the “a” I wouldn’t have anything to write about. The Lord knows our path before He even places us on it. The time comes when we will see the little crumbs of evidence of our purpose peppered along our trail. We just need to do our best to be patient and wait for His timing to bring our Eur-ek-a moment together.


For more of Melanie's writing visit www.hungryforpurpose.com/blog

Pieces of Me by Vickie Stam

There have been several occasions when I knew I wanted to be a writer. The moment I enrolled in a writing class, my desire to write only in journals no longer satisfied me. I'd found another voice; one that I needed to share, not hide. I wanted others to read my stories and they have. It's been a gradual process. A very exciting one! My first published piece appeared in the MB Herald, a magazine printed for my church denomination and one that reaches all Mennonite Brethren churches across Canada. I went on to submit pieces to short story contests. One of those stories made it to the second round of judging; something that gave me the courage to keep on writing. I haven't been able to stop since I penned my opening sentence all those years ago between the pages of my first journal. Back then I didn't think of myself as a writer nor did I ever intend to become a writer. Obviously, God had other plans for me. One in particular keeps on calling me. 

The Book.....

There's a story I keep tucked away beneath a  layer of clothing in my dresser drawer. It's in the beginning stages and I am the author. Last November I held those pages in my hands and stepped up to a microphone in front of about forty women. All eyes were on me, something that has a tendency to make me nervous. The thought of exposing pieces of my life.... pieces of me, were starting to make me rethink my decision to write something about 'relationships' and then stand up in front of everyone and share it. Even though I was among friends I could feel something inside of me grinding. Nerves rubbing together. At that point I could only hope no one could hear them.

I read my story over and over to myself beforehand. I needed to be sure it made sense. I was worried. What if no one could follow the timeline? Did it flow accordingly? Did I write it in such a way that they could feel exactly what I had felt? Would they understand the message I was trying to convey and what worried me most was how they would feel when they suddenly got a glimpse of the real me and the world I grew up in. It wasn't always a place of harmony yet love still managed to find a way through. But don't the tests of life ring true for everyone? All of our lives are weaved with joy and pain. In fact, my afflictions ultimately triggered my need to write. Penning my feelings definitely lead to healing. And now, there's hardly a day that ticks by where I don't think about writing. 

Reading my story in front of this group of women was something completely different for me even though I knew them. Attending the same church doesn't mean you know everyone's state of well being or their sorrow. Our primary focus was to connect with God and get to know one another on a deeper level. What better place than to sink ourselves inside a fortress of trees. The tiny resort was virtually hidden. It was impossible to see even the slightest hint of its existence from the winding road that led us there. The hedge of protection I often pray for lay right in front of me.     

When I stepped up to the microphone, I began reading, "Have you ever felt as though you should have been born to a different family?" I could feel my cheeks flush yet I felt it was a legitimate question; a very thought provoking one, to say the least and one I had wrestled with a time or two in my own life. You could have heard a pin drop. I was open and honest, revealing a memorable account of my feelings at a young age and how those memories affected my life into adulthood. Those early years molded many facets of my life.        

It's been almost five months since I shared my story and I've been asked on more than one occasion, "Have you started that book yet?" "You have a gift." I was told. I could see the sincerity in her eyes. I know my friend, whom I will call, "G" can't help but ask me whenever we cross paths, just how that book is coming. She believes that I can and should write a book. Each time I swallow hard. I don't have a good enough reason why I haven't started. Even so, I'm not certain those pages are the ones that I would turn into a manuscript. But, if it isn't those than it could be something else. A different topic altogether. And if I have any doubts about my ability to write, they are quickly extinguished the minute my faithful friends and husband encourage me to keep writing. 

     **Remember, the greatest gift is not found in a store nor under  the tree, but in the hearts of true friends.
                Quote by: Cindy Lew