Editors note: this post was originally featured in 2014, New posts on The C2C return May 15, 2017.
You are the answer to someone’s prayer.
A story they wanted to be told but never witnessed before.
You are untitled. That was on purpose, so that you could choose your own.
You were not schooled in the ancient way of doing things because yours is not the way of the ancients—it is the way of the modern world. So fear not that you cannot speak the way they spoke. That was their story not yours. You are not they. You are you and it was meant to be that way.
You are untitled. You are firefly out of jar. You are scourge on the earth. You are “never before seen.” You are fear that breaks before the realization of the dream.
Your life is a sweet novel: with plot twists to be thrown into and protagonists to become and symbols meant to be deciphered and themes meant to be experienced and diaries meant to be uncovered and secrets meant to be revealed.
Guys and gals: life is just a fiction novel. It’s all made up and it’s just for fun and in the end it doesn’t matter how bad things got, or how good things become, what matters is whether you enjoyed it or not.
There is no one who could write this story like you could, dear friend.
No one speaks the way you speak, no one moves the way you move, no one sighs the way you sigh.
But let it be unequivocally said today, that, if there was just but one book in this world, with just but one author, how would He come to know Himself so deeply?
He needs you to write your story, or else how will He ever know what He is truly capable of?
How will He know how deep the poetry goes?
How will He know just how great He is?
You are His authors. You are His beautiful novels. His pieces of story. His symbols and metaphors and similes all working together to weave a great trilogy: heaven and earth and everything in between.
He loves every single one of you and He needs every single one of you.
This is the great tapestry of life: a tapestry that can only be enriched but by each of our “I” ‘s typed in the margins of the page.
I, I, I, I, I, I….
You are untitled. You have yet to be spoken for precisely because you are the one who is meant to speak for yourself.
You are the messenger of your messenger and no one else can deliver that message with as much spunk and crass as you can.
Break open your heart and let it flow out like the ink that permeates the page.
Stop competing with each other, stop being so jealous, stop being so desperate.
They can never steal your piece of soul, so, why worry?
Instead, speak what you came here to say and say it as loud and as clear as you’d like because—believe it or not—it will be heard as clear as everyone else’s voice.
You are that powerful.
So, go out and write. Go out and bite. Let them feel your blues.
There is not one single story He doesn’t adore to read. There is not one single story He isn’t absolutely invested in. There is not one single story He hasn’t specifically and clearly requested to be written.
He is that much a fan of your work.
So keep at it, if only for the simple reason that without you there’d be a hole—a hole missing in His great library, and through that single hole, a cold wind would howl so greatly, that every single page on every other book in The Great Library would shudder from the loss.