the Source

To my reader,

     "Experience is the best source of inspiration."  I've read it over and over, but I was having a problem believing it would happen with me.  I couldn't identify times where my own experience has influenced how or what I write.
     Recently, though, I've learned one lesson from personal experience that I don't hope to forget.
     For the past couple of weeks, I've been feeling very far from God.  I would tell myself to open up and let His Spirit fill me, but I couldn't tear down the wall around my heart.  The loneliness, the absence of His peace, made me doubt His very existence.  I tried to remind myself of how when I surrendered everything to Jesus, my life became so much more joyful and full.  I'd felt His presence before, so of course He exists, but doubt would creep back in and crumble the reassurance.
     Then, three nights ago, a migraine descended upon me.  I'm not sure what set it off.  Probably a combination of exposure to mycotoxins and something I ate pulled the trigger, but it sure wasn't my usual skull-splitting, hammer-pounding, but-vomiting-relieves-the-pain headache either.
     My neck throbbed.  The pain itself wasn't extraordinary, but when I lay in one position to ease the neck ache, my head kept me awake.  When I lay in another position to ease the head pain, my neck prevented sleep.  I was burning up with the covers and cold without them.  I tossed for half of the night, falling into a light unconsciousness only once, but I wouldn't call it sleep.
     After I drifted out of the unconsciousness, the pain was even worse.  It felt endless.  I rolled and moaned, pleading with my emotions for God to grant me sleep.  It was too painful to actually think or speak.
     Then the nausea came.
     I went to the bathroom, but was only able to get out a little spit-up.  Mom heard me dry-heaving and came to take care of me.  I was sweating and shaking badly as I leaned against the bathroom door frame.  "Sing," I asked of her.  "And pray."
     She did pray, but I can't remember what she said.
     After several moments, I interrupted her by turning and vomiting into the toilet bowl.  I felt better, but I wasn't relaxed enough to fall back asleep.  I returned to bed with a plastic container Mom gave me, still shaking, still feeling like time had ground to a stop and would never release me from my pain.
     She sat on the bed edge and asked if there was anything she could do.
     I asked her to sing again.  Funny how when you're sick in bed, the thing you long most for is your mother's voice.  You know she's there without having to open your eyes, and you can relax in that.  After she finished "Solid Rock," I requested more prayer.
     Again, while she was speaking, I grabbed the container and nearly filled it.  I moved to the bathroom to finish.  The throb in my head waned substantially.
     On my way back to bed, I laughed.  I was still in pain and not sure how I would get comfortable in bed, but sleep was within reach.  My soul was filled with joy, the Spirit's joy. Lightheartedness in the midst of pain.  His presence very tangible.  He was delivering me, and His peace replaced my despair.
     It sounds odd, doesn't it?  My human nature wants to say I should feel near to Him only when on top of the mountain above the clouds, not stumbling in the dark valley.  But the Spirit says it's when we are poor and needy that He is closest.  It's when we are broken and pleading for mercy that He draws us into His arms against His heart.
     Realizing this about humanity has given me better perspective on how to write a character's arc.  The character isn't going to be overwhelmed by His presence, isn't going to abandon himself to God, until he's at his lowest point.  This pivotal surrender is the climax of his arc, and it's what makes his story even better.
     I know now that it is possible to draw on my own ordeals for guidance in writing.  I'll be looking more carefully now for instruction and creativity from everyday experiences. And perhaps, if I succeed in finding them, I'll find that experience is the best source of inspiration.

His always,

Janelle