Pardon me if I butcher the retelling of this story I heard in church forever ago.
There's a man who lives in a mobile home. One day it begins to rain. And rain. And rain. We're talking Noah flood like rain here.
So he's a little bit worried, but he has faith. He knows God will take care of him.
The water seeps past the cinderblock and comes into the mobile home. He heads outside to climb onto his truck and wait out the flood.
A boat floats by. The driver of the boat says they are evacuating, and does he need a lift, The man waves him past. He will be ok, because God will rescue him.
The water rises and soon he finds himself up on his roof, waiting for the flood to subside. A helicopter fly past and drops a rope ladder. Climb up, we'll save you. The man thanks them, but declines. He's got the Lord on his side.
As you may have guessed, the man drowns. When he arrives in heaven and meets the Lord, the man is upset. Why didn't you save me, Lord? I had faith and I waited for you to help me.
The Lord replies in loving chastisement, "I sent you a boat. I sent you a helicopter. But you would not help yourself."
Okay, there was a point to this, I swear. Are you drowning in you writing? Are you on the roof waiting for the Lord, or your muse to rescue you?
I have a friend that is writing a doctrinal book. She is stuck so deep in the mire that I worry about her oxygen resources. I've asked her why doesn't she go get help. Go to a conference, take classes, join a writer's group. Her answer is no way. She is positive that the Lord means for her to write this book and he will make it happen for her.
I too am drowning in writing woes. Well today I am at LDS Storymakers conference. I am rescuing myself. And there have been so many life preservers thrown my way. And I hate to say I almost passed this up. Out of fear (of meeting new people), maybe pride (do I really need classes? ( um yes)), with a little bit a money woes mixed in.
But I know that this is my boat. This is my helicopter. When I get on my knees and pray to find my way through the muck, the Lord hears me. He doesn't pull me out with his own two hands, but he does send help.
It can be a person. It can be a story. It might just be the still small voice. Keep your eyes and your ears peeled- and be ready to grab the rope.
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