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S. A. J. Lyttek, a multiple award-winning writer, always loved writing, but didn’t arrive at the profession in the typical manner. After college and graduate school, she plunged into government consulting. In this environment, she discovered a knack for writing tests, interviews and other measurements. That soon became the focus of her career—reigniting her love for the written word. Thus captivated, she spent evenings freelancing “fun” writing including short stories, poems, articles and cards. When her eldest was a toddler, she quit full-time work to stay home and write. Eager to spend more time with her children, homeschooling intrigued her. From preschool through high school, she homeschooled both sons while continuing to freelance. While an integral part of the homeschooling community, she developed and taught writing classes to a generation of homeschoolers. Married to her childhood sweetheart, Gary, Mrs. Lyttek loves to share her commitment to learners of all ages and her fascination with the written word.
It’s October, so we’re back in memories and remembering.
The memory that predominates this week is actually September by date. But as the last day of September, it was only a couple of days ago. September 30th was when my mom passed away. The weekend she died was emotionally difficult and stressful. Hospice, unlike the good reputation I’ve heard from many, came for all of fifteen minutes and told me how to administer medicines. I have absolutely no knack for nursing, so I felt inept and unable to do the best for her. Most of the time, she did sleep. In her sleep, she twisted and pushed like a butterfly trying to leave its cocoon. When awake, she cracked jokes about our grim faces whenever she felt good. Whenever she hurt, she cried out that she just wanted to be with Jesus.
Not long after listening to the church service on Sunday, her prayer was answered.
Her loss reminds me, too, of other people who have died and left my life that way. It also reminds me of people who have chosen to leave, whether friends or family. Some have left by attrition and lack of contact. Others have left forcefully through divorce or divergent life paths. I don’t like it. I’m one of those people who’d prefer to keep all the people in my life throughout my life. If you look at my Christmas card list, that fact is evident.
Thinking like this, I see in my head a scene from my favorite movie version of Emma. Knightley has just left for London. Mr. Woodhouse says, (I’m relying on my memory here, so it might be slightly off) “I don’t like it when people leave, Emma. I suppose they must go at times, but I don’t like it.” Emma touches his shoulder, replying, “Nor I, Papa.”
In a way, we’re all tapestries; we’re woven together through the people and circumstances that make up our lives. When a person leaves, it’s like a thread is pulled, altering the warp and the design. Sometimes it even leaves a hole that must be stitched up over time.
But death and separation aren’t the only difficult memories God calls us to grow from. God told Israel to remember their years of bondage before he tells them to remember the deliverance. The deliverance only has its impact when remembered in light of what went before it.
Deuteronomy 5:15a And remember that you were a slave in the land of Egypt, and the Lord your God brought you out from there by a mighty hand and by an outstretched arm.
God also told them to remember their failures in the wilderness. We too need to remember those times where we didn’t do what we knew God was calling us to.
I spent a lot of time not writing.
By that, I’m not referring to the lazy days or achy days or playing hooky days. I’m talking more about the years of not doing what I felt God calling me to do simply because I wasn’t like the other writers I knew. I can’t plan or outline in advance to save my life. (In school, for those who remembered me talking about it, I always wrote the draft of the paper first, then the outline.) Pinterest idea boards are useless to the way I’m wired. I can’t even start at the beginning and keep writing until the end without dozens of time skips and project jumps.
I took multiple classes in novel writing from famous and/or profitable authors and felt like I failed them all.
Acting in that feeling rather than obeying God’s calling, I stopped work on my novels. Short stories, articles, greeting cards, and anything else of 5000 words or less received my effort and attention. My heart was aching for the longer and more intricate stories, but I felt someone else would have to write them. God, I thought, made a mistake calling an easily distracted woman with the inability to focus for more than ten minutes to write books.
God called me back to his purpose for me multiple times before I listened. The feeling of being a misfit in the writing world clanged so loudly in my soul it often drowned out his still, small voice.
Now, that feeling still surfaces from time to time. I feel so weak as a writer when I compare myself. But then, I remember that pain of disobedience. But then, I remember the other side of the wilderness each time a book surfaced with my name on it.
Difficult memories help us grow. We need to remember our losses and our wildernesses. We need to remember the times we were hurt so that we don’t hurt others. We need to remember our grief so we can console others. We need to remember our weaknesses so that we can lean upon and into the strength of our Author.