Teena Myers
Writing never crossed my mind as a career choice. I was recutanly dragged down the road to becoming an author when a student walked into my Sunday School class with an cassette recorder. “I am going to translate your lessons about faith into Spanish and put them on the radio in Honduras.”
The poor quality of the recordings made it difficult to hear everything I said. I doubted a single mother of two, could afford radio time in a foreign land. But the project was important to her. I added more information to the outline I taught from and gave her a copy.
By the end of the series, I was writing everything and reading it to the class. The other students requested copies of the lessons. When they picked up their copies, I often heard, “You should be published,” which I dismissed as nonsense.
From Class to Manuscript
Translating English into Spanish proved difficult. My Honduran friend abandoned her dream of sharing my lessons with her homeland. Then, my class was unexpectedly cancelled, and I fell into a depression. Hoping a project might distract me from my misery, I Googled “how to write a manuscript” and rewrote the Steps of Faith series in a manuscript format.
Before I took another step down the road to publishing, I contacted a professional editor for an evaluation of my writing. I expected five to ten pages explaining how I could improve my manuscript. I received six pages of praise and a discounted price to do a line-by-line edit.
My first effort at producing a manuscript could not have been so good he thanked me for letting him read it. Even at the discounted price, I could not afford to pay him. I put the manuscript on the top shelf of my closet to collect dust.
An Envelope and a Nudge
I had forgotten about the manuscript when a former student sat next to me in church. We were listening to the announcements when she shoved an offering envelope in my hand.
“Do you want me to put it in the offering basket?”
“No,” she said. “It’s for your ministry.”
“What ministry?”
“Your writing ministry.”
I tossed the envelope on her lap. “Put that in the offering basket. I don’t have a writing ministry.”
She pushed the envelope back into my hand. “No, it’s for you.”
I pointed to the name of the church on the envelope. “It’s for the church,” I said, as I forced the envelope into her hand.
She glared at me and tried to put the envelope into my hand now formed into a tight fist. “I’m not taking money in a church’s offering envelope,” I whispered through clenched teeth.
She ripped open the envelope. Dropped the cash onto my lap and said, “It’s for your writing ministry.” The look in her eye threatened a physical altercation if I dared give the money back. Lest we start a World Wrestling Federation smackdown in the middle of a church service, I put the cash in my Bible and said, “Fine.”
Stepping into the Call
I didn’t know what to do with the money, so I put it in my file cabinet. The following Sunday, she donated more money to my non-existent ministry. After receiving donations for several months, she said, “So what are you doing with the money?”
I was reluctant to disappoint my benefactor with the truth. Then I remembered the editor’s discounted offer to fix the grammar. I smiled, “I’m paying an editor to prepare my manuscript for publishing.”
Lest I burn in Hell for being a liar, I accepted the editors discounted price and sent him the manuscript. The single mother from Honduras failed to accomplish her purpose. She accomplished God’s. I never stopped writing.
