But Noah was different. God liked what He saw in Noah.~Genesis 6:8 (The Message Bible)

I continue to realize that I am under construction. I exist inside the architecture the Lord designs for my life. Some of the rooms in this complex are deeply in need of refurbishment. The anxiety room, for instance. At times, I experience stifling anxiety. Panic sets in and my mind circles with thoughts of all the bad things that could happen, might happen. I forget what is true. I don't like this room much, yet I sometimes fail to realize the reconstruction that has already taken place--much healing from childhood trauma, safe people in my life that have taught me to trust, coping skills that greatly help reduce my fears, and the Lord Himself comforting me. I run my fingers over the freshly painted walls. I note the large window constructed just for me so that I feel the warmth of the sun shining in, can view the sunset in the evenings. Yes, there is more renovation to be done in this room. The Lord reassures me that the place is coming together. 

I take my Bible from the shelf. The Message Bible. The one written in contemporary language by the late Eugene Peterson. The Word acts like smelling salts, bringing me back from the paralyzing feelings and taking me to the realm of truth that imbues the Lord's Shalom peace. Here are some points I needed to review:

I keep hearing this phrase in my mind: "The anatomy of rejoicing." I don't know what it means.~Journal entry, June 19, 2025 

I'm really bad at rejoicing. I overthink and often dwell on what can go wrong. I asked God for help. He must have known I needed some rejoicing lessons and planted this phrase in my mind.

The first lesson began by returning to that verse in Philippians 4:4. "Rejoice in the Lord always, and again I say rejoice." How many times have I sung this Scripture song by rote, even thinking it was cheesy and fake and saccharine? And yet, I knew in my spirit that rejoicing in the Lord was none of these things. I sensed the Lord reminded me that even when things do go wrong, I can always rejoice in Him, in His attributes. I can always depend on Him to be perfectly loving, to provide and protect, to strengthen and sustain, to offer a way through, to supply peace when I feel anxious and overthink. "Can you not authentically always rejoice in me?" He seemed to ask.  

Lesson two presented itself in the next portion of the passage (5-7) in Philippians: "Let your gentleness be evident to all. The Lord is near. Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus." The comfort that knowing the "Lord is near" felt reassuring. Even in the natural, having someone near, feeling someone's hand in yours, is all it takes sometimes to try something new, to take a step, to get better at something. I could do this. I didn't have to be bad at rejoicing.  

As I enter "young old age," I surely need and crave God's reassurance. I have no appetite for the fast lane.~Journal entry on my 70th birthday

Over the last decade, I've had an intermittent dream. It probably emerges in the night watches when I'm feeling stressed or afraid. In the dream I'm speeding, not completely in control of the car, at times almost veering out of my lane into traffic, my heartbeat racing. I always wake up before I crash, thoroughly relieved that I'm not actually driving, my hands gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled. 

Last week I had this same dream, yet this time there was an intervention as I swerved and careened down the highway. A giant-sized man came and stood over my car, bent down and placed his hands on the sides of the vehicle, almost like that intimate gesture of tenderly cupping a face. My car had a moon roof. I lifted my head and peered up through the square opening and met the man's soulful gaze, his eyes hazel, glistening. His cheeks were covered with a dark, neatly trimmed beard, his skin brown. I could almost sense his kindness emanating through the steel doors that he held in his palms. I felt deeply grateful that he had slowed my pace, steadied me.

I've had an opportunity to share some of my writing journey with a writer's group at my church. The following is the handout I created for the class. I pray it will be helpful to you as well.

R.S.V.P.

I pray the name of Jesus over you

Like a banner waving

Victory and joy ~ From Canyon Road, A Book Of Prayer by Kari Kristina Reeves

As I was preparing this teaching, I realized the first letters of the components I wanted to highlight contained the French expression, Répondez s’il vous plait. This translates, “Please respond,” or “Reply if it pleases you.” I believe as writers, this could be the invitation the Lord asks us to consider. “I’ve invited you to write, use the gifting and talent I’ve supplied to you, anointed you with. Please respond. I’d love to see you at the word festival.”

The following are ideas to keep in mind as you respond to His invitation:

READ

Reading often partners well with writing.

What do you enjoy reading? What is your writing genre?  How do the two intertwine for you?

I find that if my reading slows down, I risk leaving new worlds that enhance my writing.

Keep your writing fresh by reading a genre you don’t usually prefer. What might you learn, and how might this influence your writing style?

Schedule a classic every now and then. Something, perhaps, you’ve wanted to read but just haven’t gotten to.

SAFETY

As writers, we often become excited about sharing a piece we’ve written, much like a chef may desire a person to enjoy her culinary expression. Sometimes, however, even the individuals we believe will most enjoy our writing may not. A disappointing or critical reaction has potential to derail projects. One day as I took a walk, I noted a neighbor had dumped pens and beautiful journals, watercolors and brushes in a heap by his trash can. I felt sad and wondered if this person had received negative or toxic comments about pursuing art. As you move forward, pray about who might be safe to share your projects with. Of course, you’re not looking for, “Oh, this is so great! Don’t change a thing. You’re a genius!” You want people to read your work who will concurrently honor your vulnerability and provide honest feedback. When the Lord leads you to these people, you will have discovered treasure and increased motivation to keep writing.

How have you managed negative responses to your writing? If you’ve experienced a dip in motivation, what might you need to increase your confidence and pick up your pen once again?

VOICE                           

There’s a lot of talk about “finding your writing voice.” That can be overwhelming to define; however, I don’t believe God wants it to be. The Lord creates our hearts to tune in to unique ideas and issues. I encourage you to anchor into what YOU notice. What creates excitement, what images, colors, locations, people, animals, periods in history, characters, authors you love inspire you? What is the Lord downloading in your dreams in your journaling, in your imagination? In the Word? The sky is the limit as God is the impeccable Master Creator. He designed us to create and so enjoys the collaboration with His beloved. He created you and your heart and your desires. Move toward those things and your voice emerges beautifully. And the reader needs your unique voice. No one else sounds like you. Think of this: an author you truly love publishes a new book—you can’t wait to read it, because you know her voice. You recognize that sound. If the world does not hear your voice, a gem of healing remains buried. Your voice is a healing vessel to the world.

If your writing was a soundtrack, what melody or artist would it most resemble?

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

to love what is mortal;

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

and, when the time comes to let it go,

to let it go.~ Mary Oliver (From In Blackwater Woods)

I would have preferred to stand on the shoreline to say my goodbyes. Instead, I walked to the park inside my condo community and sat at a picnic table located underneath the shade of an oak tree. It was early morning and not yet hot. A light breeze rustled the tree branches and I could see a few geese gently entering the water at a nearby pond. A bird flew near me and settled on a fence post. I wished I could reach out and touch the little bird. It was so close, I could see the shining black bead of its eye, see the outline of feathers on its breast.  But of course, it would fly away if I went near. So I stayed put and talked to my friend who had recently passed away. Yesterday I attended her memorial service.

The poem by Mary Oliver was on the back of the memorial program. I sensed my friend was saying to all of us who loved her, "Let go now. I'm free. I'm okay. I'm more than okay. I'm healed and enjoying life in the Kingdom. But you are still living and have more days to walk by faith, to live in this world."