Survival Shadows and Surrender of a Rebel

Many years ago as a young child I would scribble pictures before I could write, which soon became words. Over the years I wrote snippets of stories, poems and songs. I knew someday I would write a book, but I had no idea about what. In the 80’s I finally began gathering those snippets to begin writing a book, but over the years the book was tucked away. When Shelbi was adopted I again began writing a book about her adoption, which also found its way tucked into the desk drawer…unfinished along with the first one. One day I received a call from a man I had never met inquiring why I had never finished writing the books I had started. He had seen some of my writings and thought they were worthy of putting in a book. Nobody but my children knew about those silly books. I spoke to my son about it, and though it remained a mystery, it preyed on my mind. Who was he? How did he find me? And, why hadn’t I finished them? For months this bothered me, and every time it crossed my mind…there was my shadow lingering near. I knew what I had to do when confronted with the question that I kept hearing “I’ve given you gifts that you aren’t using. Why? Write the book…its time now.” I knew what I had to do in my heart, but my head wasn’t fully convinced. I’m a Rebel…a Rebel…a Rebel.

I felt compelled to begin writing in February 2003, as days would permit me the use of my arms. I couldn’t think about sitting more than few minutes anyway, or using my arms much as the pain increased. Things went incredibly slow, but I thought perhaps it would be good therapy, and would at least keep my mind occupied. It wasn’t good therapy for my arms, but I still tried writing a little each day. I had begun telling the story of my life, not knowing why particularly. Everyone has a story, and my life was no different or any more special than anyone else’s. I was no inventor or scientist with a great discovery. I had achieved no great feats in life, and Lord knows…I certainly had no love story to tell. I had barely survived! I walked away in tears often as I dealt with my past, reliving the childhood abuse, the physical and mental abuse in my marriages, the joys of my children and grandchildren, losing my home in a fire, my cancer surgery and the infertility issues that followed, and the horrific hurt and pain that infidelity and alcohol causes. I finally began to realize and welcome the huge importance that the Lord had always played in my life. I kept writing…and writing. Lord, nobody will want to read this…why am I doing it? Again, there was my shadow compelling me to do so with the words, “It’s defeat that brings brokenness…that’s why you’re doing it Susan.”

Poor Jonah…so overlooked in scripture as merely a man eaten by a fish, and spit out onto land somewhere. Somehow I felt attached to Jonah myself…always refusing to do what I was told, or what I knew to be right. So many times I had chosen the road to Tarshish instead of Nineveh just as Jonah had done…insisting on doing things my own way as if I knew more than God. I had often times insisted I could get away from it all, by running away in my own self-sufficiencies. In my case, I had worked at a fever pitch all of my life to keep God from catching up with me as if that were even possible. I had been a pro at not really listening to the Lord. This time it was different. I had been caught…and was wallowing in the bile and waste of life’s garbage surrounding me, but this time I was going to obey. I was heading towards Ninevah as I was being led to do, after all my years of disobedience to the Lord.