Sunday Devotion: Reality Verses Dreams

Janet Rubin


Why is it that the idea of things is often so much more attractive than the actual doing of them? The romantic picture as opposed to reality?

The way learning seems so exciting when shopping for school supplies in late August, for example. How easy it was growing up, once armed and adorned with new stuff, to envision myself hunched over books, studying, making careful notes on the thin blue lines of my notebook with my sparkly pencils, or writing A+ papers and working out difficult math problems. How could someone not excel with a Bon Jovi binder or a Garfield lunch box? But how quickly my enthusiasm waned the first night I had to actually sit down and do home work. In spite of everything, it was after all still just work—reading, studying, memorizing.

Or when I was pregnant with my first child, how sweet was the picture in my mind as I decorated the nursery- me, rocking in a chair, nursing my infant by the moonlight that would stream in the window. Several months later I grew to dread those midnight squawks that came from that pink, lacy crib and dragged me from the warmth of my own bed. Caring for baby in the middle of the night was bleary-eyed misery. I wanted to sleep!

Likewise, there is great discrepancy between my ideas about the writing life and the reality of it. I have romantic images stored up in my mind of what an author does. I envision scribes of old, dipping pen in ink by lamplight at antique desks, those of more recent past pounding out stories on typewriters, lost in the passion of creating. My perfect writing fantasy involves me in a secluded mountainside cabin in Maine, typing the days away, breaking only to brew more coffee or take a morning hike.

When I first decided to get serious about my writing, I outfitted myself with all the necessary tools—a desk and computer, stacks of how-to-write books, a thesaurus, dictionary, and a little notebook I thought I’d carry everywhere to record all of my creative thoughts. I thought I’d write character sketches in waiting rooms, practice writing description on the playground, and think of profound metaphors in the grocery line. After spending my mornings cleaning and home schooling my children, I imagined myself typing away the afternoons, producing fiction as fast as my family produces dirty clothes.

Like the first night of homework, reality hit me as soon as my behind hit the computer chair. Writing is work. It’s rarely romantic. There are distractions and boredom and a never-ending temptation to check email. I’m too lazy to look anything up in the thesaurus, I don’t know where that little notebook is and all I think about in the grocery line is whether I should get the regular or king-sized Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups for the ride home.

But. When I push past the laziness, ignore the email and the dirty clothes, and type until the flow begins (this may take an hour or a week), I find myself lost in an experience that is exciting. As the story unfolds, my excitement builds. And when it is done, I am filled with satisfaction. The satisfaction has nothing to do with how cute my writing corner is or those books on writing I haven’t read. It’s all because of the act of creation. And when I look at the finished product, I know the making of it wasn’t all passion and romance, but part misery.

My idea of Christianity can become skewed as well. I listen to some preacher on the radio or get all worked up at a women’s conference, pumped up by powerfully delivered sermons, enthusiastic worship, and joyous crowds. Yes, I think, I’m going to do it. I’m a’livin’ for Jesus from now on. Ain’t nothin’ gonna get me down. Caught up in the euphoria, I can imagine the rest of my life to be some kind of continual praise-fest.

Then I go home. Sweeping the floor, breaking up bouts of sibling rivalry, picking up the clothes my husband leaves on the floor, staring at a blank computer screen with nary an idea in sight—in the midst of these mundane things of daily life, I realize living for Jesus is work. Sitting to pray and read the Word is something I need to force myself to do some days. There are dry spells when my prayers are not passionate, when my heart is not thankful, when I feel like giving something less than joyful, humble service to my family.

Jesus said, “Take up your cross and follow Me.” While our lives may not involve the persecution some Christians around the world experience, this Christian life is a cross. It isn’t all halleluiahs and amens. It’s discipline, faithfulness, endurance, resisting temptation, and seeking. But it isn’t a cross without reward. When we seek, we find. When we follow, we are lead. When we resist Satan, he flees. When we are faithful, we grow. When we trust and obey, we are filled with joy.

I think that ultimately the idea of things is deceptive. Most things worth having don’t come free. Education, good writing, and a godly life are very good things. Not easy, not dreamy and romantic, definitely not free. But very worth having.

Hebrews 12:2Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.

Lord,Please help me to let go of my unrealistic notions and to be willing to live out the reality of what You’ve set before me. Thank You that there is joy before me. I admit that I don’t have what it takes to carry this cross. Please make me strong, fill me with Your Spirit, and walk with me every moment. I need You. I do want to write well, and more importantly to be godly. Have Your way with me, Lord. Amen