I find myself wrestling with God often. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t go picking fights with Him, heavens no. But I have struggled in letting go of the familiar to step out into His story.

It never looks like you expect it to look.

The conference had been going for two days already and I was on information overload. I also was getting a little irritated. The proverbial question EVERYONE asked in that conference center was “What’s your book about?”

I didn’t have a book.

I was getting angrier and angrier about that. God and I had been wrestling about it, me freshly healed and wanting to share, Him with some elusive bigger plan. I was miffed and He is Holy.

I called home between sessions to chat with my husband in need of a distraction, maybe even a justification. (can’t you hear the chuckle). Two sentences into our conversation he says, “Hey, you should give my mom a call, she found someone who wants you to write their book.”

I may have laughed outloud, I certainly blew it off.  I don’t write other people’s books.  And yes, those words came rather curtly and sharply out of my mouth. (my cheeks are blushing even now). His little comment made my stomach flip and suddenly this little wrestling match turned into an  all out tantrum. I quickly found an excuse to get off the phone and frantically searched for a bathroom stall to hide in.

“This really isn’t funny anymore God” I wailed. He stayed quiet, prodding me in the gut.

The clock still said I had 10 minutes until my next session started. Why the clock ticks so dang slow sometimes I have no idea. I wandered by the merchandise table… I fluffed my hair in the mirror… I sorted my book bag… I checked my email.

Ugh. “FINE! I’ll call.”

My Mother in Law answered on the second ring. And immediately dove into the details of her miraculous rendezvous with Beth Ayn. I knew their story, quite the faith walk I thought to myself.  But again, I don’t write other people’s books.  She talked, I listened. I smiled at the people wondering why I had tears in my eyes while I was obviously on a phone call with someone back home. We said our pleasant good byes and I wandered, broken, down the hall into conference room 201.

I walked in a few minutes late, the lady was already talking. Numb, I just listened, my pen methodically taking notes.

“ When God wants to accomplish something through you, He will do it.”  She proclaimed. “ We as Christians limit God by thinking we can’t do what He calls us to do.”  She quoted from Henry Blackaby. “ Its not a you sized work, it’s a God sized work. ” I kept writing, resisting the words she was saying. She ended with “ Just do what you were called to do and watch- watch the stuff come to you.”*

Ok. Next.

Then this burly man, somewhat out of place, took the podium. I hadn’t ever heard of him, truly. I had to ask the lady next to me who he was. She looked at me like I had two heads.

He stood there, without notes or a power point and just started pouring out words from the depths of his heart. It was hard to follow… I needed the bullet points to distract my wrestled soul. But he kept going, wandering down this woven path of stories he’d written. Stories he’d written for other people.

And he wept with passion for the messages, the life, held within their testimonies. He exuded joy at the treasure hunt to discover them.*

I wrote two words on my notebook during his session and circled them.

Do it.

God won that wrestling match.

And now, twelve months later, I’m returning to that same conference with a book in my hand and a message burning in my soul.