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Every person has a specific something that only he or she was meant to accomplish in this life.

There are some people who-within the first few years of their lives-know exactly what it is they are meant to do for the rest of their lives. Others may not know instinctively, but in the course of their young lives, they see the light and know for sure what is their purpose and work toward fulfilling that goal.

I am NOT one of those people. I have the misfortune (not really) of being quite good at doing a number of things. You know, I’m a Jill-of-all-trades and mistress of none. There were times when I thought I had found my calling. Only to realize that what I was moving toward was inching away as I chased it. I’d chased this last one for about 14 years only to discover (about a year ago) that, once again, this was not it! Can you say “Bummer!”? *insert monumental frustration here*

However, amidst the frustration was clarity and a bit of confusion upon discovering that I am a writer. Until I began to share my work with others, I would tell anyone that writing was my weakest subject in school. Not that I got bad grades in it. I just never felt good at writing anything. I always seemed to be playing Truth-or-Dare with the blank page. The “truth” was I couldn’t get decent words on the paper, and the paper kept “daring” me to do something about it. In light of this, imagine my surprise at the discovery of my life’s work. Mouth wide open. Eyes bugged out of my head. Hair standing on end. But now when I sit to write, it’s like an itch I can’t quite scratch and getting the words out provides an unimaginable relief.

I recently took the time to think back over my life and realized that I’ve been preparing for this all along. Thanks to my mother and a little box of records (Gosh, I just dated myself!) and books called “Listen and Learn with Phonics,” I was reading long before I was expected to do so. Thus began my love affair with books. I was willing to read anywhere. In all the obvious places and the not-so-obvious ones. I would even sneak my current read into church, and read while my father was ministering! (Thank God for large purses!)

Shelves of books and piles of magazines proclaim my love of the written word. With a love of books so strong, it would be a shame if I never wrote a word.

I was born to write!

No one can tell my story like I can, and no one has the same perspective on life as I do. Of this I am absolutely certain. So, one thing I know for sure is that…