fun: n. amusement, enjoyment or pleasure
I was on my hands and knees, weeding an area around a lovely pond for a gardening client when the thought, This is fun, passed through my mind. The next to follow was: Why would I even think this is fun? But it was.
Fun is not a word generally applied to grubbing out Stinky Bob weeds--so described by another of my gardening clients because they do stink--I'm not sure where "Bob" came from, though I doubt it was ever personal...or Forget-Me-Nots--given that label since once you plant them, you'll have them forever, never to be forgotten...or a profusion of other weed varieties growing in the landscape surrounding the small waterway that led down into the pond, newly stocked with fish and flashing a bright water lily.
Perhaps it was fun because the area was overrun with weeds, and I knew my clients were going to be surprised when they discovered it was cleared out--perhaps. Then again, maybe the soothing sound of gurgling water as it gradually flowed down the slope towards the pond before being pumped back up to begin its journey all over again made it fun--maybe. I could say it was because bright, blue-bodied dragonflies with transparent wings flitted around while I was working, but I know better. I know that true enjoyment comes from within, not without.
I began writing over six years ago. In May, 2019, I self-published a book, a compilation of blog posts I had written. I joined the Oregon Christian Writers but I have never considered myself to be in the same league or class as my fellow members. Unlike many published, successful authors, I have no training and no credentials. I certainly don't have an agent.
I have been in an ongoing struggle with self-doubt since my first published post. Do I really have anything to say? Is it anything anyone wants to hear about or read? Just who do I think I am? I simply cannot call myself a writer. That term applies to others--not to me. In that frame of mind, I shut down; I become silent.
While in my garden today, I was watering some cosmos and a wild flower bed I planted from seed. I've never been successful with seeds, but these are thriving, largely because I am tending them. I provided good soil for them, giving them consistent water so they could sprout. I have given them the environment they need so they can eventually bloom. I am giving them loving care.
Nothing is more exciting, I thought, than planting a seed and watching it grow--whether in the physical or the spiritual. Bingo! THAT is what my God-given words are as I place them on paper. They are seeds that He tends and cares for, with the potential to bring about growth and change in the one who reads them.
What struck me is the fact I need to forget the "writer" label and the semantics and just do what has been given to me to do--write. I was given a voice to use, not to stifle.
And that is why cleaning up around the pond was fun today. My mind was freed. I gave no thought as to whether or not I qualify as a writer. Instead I thought of my experience and how best to describe it when I returned home--how to write about it and deliver its message. Thoughts of the current global pandemic didn't touch me. I was oblivious to the hatred and anger permeating my country, and the dissension and division between the political left and right never entered my mind.
I am a person first--one who is a grandmother, plays the piano, gardens, and...writes.
God is good--He is also pretty sneaky.