As a young girl, the joy of writing heartfelt letters, sending colorful postcards, and exchanging notes sparked an interest in meaningful communication. Over time, as life became complicated, my enthusiasm for writing gradually faded. In early adulthood, I fully heard and understood the gospel message. I experienced a new beginning; my heart was open, allowing me to respond in faith. As deep needs and desires were renewed, I often journaled. For over twenty years, I have filled notebooks with prayers and intimate dialogue with my Creator. As I reflect on these journals and the years that have passed, I’ve come to realize that I am meant to write His answers.
A key moment in a pottery class best shows how He shapes and defines one’s writing according to His purpose. When a group of a dozen students gathered around a large art table, each with clay and tools in hand, ready for instructions, the assignment was to create a hanging planter. As everyone began to work, the room quickly filled with quiet concentration. Crafting the clay has its own struggles, mixed with eager anticipation. Part of the process involves adding decorative prints and stamps. I noticed that the shape of the clay on the table was becoming difficult to work with, making it hard to finish the assignment. It became clear that I needed to pick up the clay and set it upright. I slowly peeled the sticky clay off the table with gentle force, and then, using gravity, I placed the pottery piece upright on the table. Not realizing that in doing so, I had changed the structure to a free-standing piece of pottery. I didn’t fully comprehend this reality until I heard the teacher say, “I like what you did with your piece.” Initially, I wondered what she meant by her comment until I looked up and saw the other students’ pottery; not one other person had created a standing planter. I was the only one, and to me, it seemed the most sensible approach.
In the same fashion, I’m learning that writing is a teachable skill: we each are equipped with the same tools, instruments, and instructions, but some have been given a unique way to see things, and the outcome or genres will not look the same as others; however, each expression of creativity will shape it.
Writing His answers takes faith — some days with certainty and others through trial and error. In the stillness, His presence assures us, revealing that the true art of faith lies not in perfect answers, but in a heart that lingers to listen.
Taken together, these reflections remind us that faith isn’t always about certainty, but about our willingness to respond. Just as Jesus approached the man with the withered hand and asked him to stretch it forth, essentially calling him to act in faith. Jesus doesn’t ignore our weakness or choose to look away. He meets us in uncertainty, sees it, and is ready to take hold, offering His strength. Ultimately, the focus is on the willingness to trust and respond. Not relying upon human strength, but learning the value of His answers, by seeking to profoundly impact lives.
Deborah Somjak 