Considered...

           I thank Christ Jesus our Lord, who has given me strength, that he considered me trustworthy, appointing me to his service. Even though I was once a blasphemer and a persecutor and a violent man, I was shown mercy because I acted in ignorance and unbelief. The grace of our Lord was poured out on me abundantly, along with the faith and love that are in Christ Jesus. (I Timothy 1:12-14)

         When was the last time you thanked Jesus for considering you trustworthy, or for appointing you to His service? If you’re like me, the very idea is laughable. Me, trustworthy? Me, appointed to His service? These verses happened to be the next in line when I opened I Timothy 1 this morning, but they relate well with the struggle I am facing with my writing.

          As I open the rough draft of the third book in my series, my heart sinks. What made sense when I started it doesn’t now. Or, it might, but my mind isn’t connecting the dots. The good news is that I had enough wisdom to say, “OK, Lord, what do I do with this?” The bad news is the automatic reaction from my mind of “What in the world are you bothering God about your stories for? What possible interest would He have in them? They aren’t important to anyone but you. They’re fiction after all.”

          I think this is a variation on what’s known as the Imposter Syndrome. Typically, Imposter Syndrome involves the idea that someday, probably soon, someone is going to look me in the eye and say, “You’re not a good writer. You’re a joke, an imposter!” It doesn’t have to be “writer,” of course, The same idea applies no matter what occupation you care to insert. When it comes to one’s Christianity, it seems to me that there’s an LED sign over my head.

           I think I’m a Christian? Imposter!

           Me, trustworthy? Imposter!

          Appointed to His service? Imposter! Joke!

         I’m reminded of a man who lived a long time ago. I don’t recall the details except that he was either going blind or had gone blind. He thought himself useless to God, and wrote this poem:

When I consider how my light is spent 
     Ere half my days in this dark world and wide,
     And that one talent which is death to hide
     Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
     My true account, lest he returning chide,
     “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
     I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: “God doth not need
     Either man’s work or his own gifts: who best
     Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed
     And post o’er land and ocean without rest:
     They also serve who only stand and wait.”

           His name was John Milton. He wrote Paradise Lost, Paradise Regained, and lots of other poetry. He’s considered one of the greatest poets in history. I’m comparing myself, and you, to him for one reason only. I suspect we all have a tendency to accuse ourselves of being an imposter or otherwise declare ourselves and that which we do as worthless to God.

           A well-known passage from Genesis comes to mind. After Adam and Eve sinned, they hid from God. When they were questioned about their hiding, they said that they had hidden because they were naked and were ashamed. And God asked them, “Who told you that you were naked?”

         Who told me that my writing was worthless, or that God doesn’t consider it important? Who told me that talking to Him about a novel was a waste of time because it’s just a story? Who told you that you are an imposter of a Christian? Of that being a mother wasn’t enough? Or that your creativity, no matter how limited you might think it, has no value to the world? What evidence did they give you to back up their claim?

         Chances are, there’s no good evidence. Chances are, there’s less evidence of your failure, or mine than there was of Paul’s. We’ve probably always been nobodies. Paul had been a leader of his people and had approved of the execution of people for crimes against the state and the Law.

           Paul could have joined our pity parties and put our shame to shame. Instead, he speaks of God’s considering him trustworthy and of being given an assignment. This is the conclusion I reached last night. God can use what I write in my life and in the lives of others. God can be interested in it even if it’s fiction just as an accomplished artist can do watercolors with a child. It’s unlikely that what I write is worthless to Him just because I wrote it. He can trust me even if I think I’m untrustworthy. He can give me an assignment even if I think I’m an imposter. And if He has done any of this, then my questioning of them is an attack and a lie. 

           Rather than accepting the role of an impersonator, we must take on the role of a soldier, fighting against the whispered doubts. We must join Paul in his assertion, and John Milton in recognizing that they also serve who only stand and wait.