When I was a high school freshman, I approached my English teacher, Mrs. Richard.  My appetite for words urged me to ask her where I could buy one of the books we used in class—The American Heritage Dictionary. She looked up from the papers she was grading, red pen in hand and a sparkle in her eye. Through her smile, she said she’d look into it and continued to edit. A few days later, she slipped me a brand new copy and wouldn’t accept my money. She said it was an honor to give a book to someone who was hungry to learn.

The dictionary spine lay gaping on my bedside stand. Every day, I devoured a new word and nourished my growing vocabulary.

It wasn’t long before some classmates teased me. “Use normal words,” they said. “Who are you tying to impress?”

Their criticism threatened my passion for language; I considered defending my love for language by continuing to spout new-to-me multisyllabic speech, but I wanted to belong more than I wanted to increase my vocabulary. So I stuck the red dictionary between my ceramic dice bookends, where dust gathered on its top edge.

Several years later, I sat in my kitchen’s tender pre-dawn hours while my first husband and two toddlers slept. This was my time to do what I enjoyed—learn about writing from a borrowed copy of The Artist’s Way. I stole pockets of time, every chance I could. It was my secret.

Feet padded down the carpeted stairs. My husband looked over my shoulder. Excited, I showed him the book.

This wasn’t a good use of my time, he said, walking toward the cabinet for cereal. Shouldn’t I do more productive things? Two jobs, two toddlers and a large house left no time for writing.

I returned the book to the library and shelved another opportunity with words.

After my divorce years later, I spotted a copy of The Artist’s Way in a Borders bookstore and grabbed it, its inner hinge splayed open before I reached my car. I had my old friend back. Flipping through the pages, I realized my passion for writing never left; I found it buried beneath others’ ridicule and judgment—and my insecurities.

One day while rummaging through a box of books, I found my old journal from a time during my first marriage. I clenched at my handwritten words: “I’m an outsider in my own life. My existence is like a play acted out on a stage before me; only I’m not part of the stage cast. A shell of me sits in the anonymity of the audience.”

My words revealed the distance I felt. I struggled to find meaning for my existence. What was at stake? My purpose.

After a series of challenging events, I worked with a life coach. I began my time with her feeling empty like a shell. I completed our work together with unmistakable meaning. She helped me clarify my life values and discover my life purpose: writing.

The past two years I’ve committed to developing my writing skills and exploring my writing opportunities. The more I pursue it, the more I grow, and the more I’m experiencing a sense of community. Through words, we learn more about one another and how to heal one another.

The page offers open space where I compose my thoughts. As they spill into that space, I begin to see new perspectives. I discover my purpose is not just about me, but also about ministering to others. I don’t believe God intended for my story, or the troubles tangled within it, to be wasted. He meant for all of it to be used for His glory.

I think of Mrs. Richard from time to time, and her investment in a young woman who loved words. I think she saw a purpose in me that I didn’t yet see. I’ll bet she’d be glad to know her student found her way, committed to using words—new words, multisyllabic words—to tell stories. And it’s all part of finally living out her God-given purpose.

Meet Sharon Gibbs…

Sharon Gibbs is a writer, blogger and oncology nurse with a passion for how our stories connect and heal us. Her agonizSharon Gibbsing divorce and estrangement from her two sons led her to write about relationships, faith and life perspectives at sharonagibbs.com. She finds joy in knowing that nothing God has done in her is going to waste. Sharon serves her church’s ministry through being a Marriage Mentor, facilitator of Divorce Care and Life Group leader with her husband, Andrew.  She would love to connect with you on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest or her website.

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Diane W. Bailey is the founder of The Consilium – an online community of wisdom and purpose for women over 45 years of age. She is a published author. Her books include String of Pearls – From Tears to Treasure, and 30 Days To A Better Stepfamily. She creates her own line of precious metals bracelets. Diane lives in the Deep South with her husband Doc. Together they have created a stepfamily, each having two stepchildren and two birth children, and share three grandchildren, one black lab named Charlie and one long haired tabby cat named Lil Girl. Diane’s passion is to encourage women to be all God has created them to be by pressing past fear and daring to live life as an adventure. Some of her life adventures include traveling to Israel, speaking, entrepreneurship and backyard farming with Doc. She loves Gumbo, fried shrimp and seeing all sunsets across water.

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