I belong to an awesome writer’s group. The God moment that started it is almost as out there as The Boy Who Came Back From Heaven* but mine actually happened, and I have a witness.
It started at a Cincinnati Vineyard Church Missions Team Prayer Training event on a Saturday morning the summer of 2009.
During an exercise designed to teach us how to hear from God, half of the group lined up facing the wall. Then the other half of us lined up behind them. The people who were facing the wall were asking God for direction or insight (sometimes called “a word”) for the person behind them—but since we lined up after they turned to the wall, they didn’t know who they were praying for. After a short amount of time, they were instructed to turn around and tell us what they thought they heard from God.
Freaky, right?
The person I was standing behind was a staff member at our church. Vivacious and energetic with spiky, streaked blonde but sometimes blue or purple hair, Harmony was someone I didn’t know very well. She told me that what she “got” was a big blue eye.
“You mean looking at me?” All I could imagine was something like a stalker-God, evaluating my every move.
“No, no, no. It’s like you’re supposed to be watching for something.”
I do have blue eyes but it sounded a little crazy to both Harmony and me. We shrugged our shoulders, not sure if the big blue eye was truly from God or not, and went on with the rest of the training.
The next day was Sunday and as I drove to church, I remembered what Harmony had told me and wondered what I should be watching for. I looked around as I drove, but didn’t see anything.
My husband was out of town, so I decided to sit in a different place than our usual spot. During the sermon I saw that the woman next to me was crying a little. And then: This is what I’m supposed to notice.
The rest of the sermon I thought, Ok, now I’ve noticed it, what am I supposed to do? I prayed for direction and felt led to talk with the woman.
After the service was over I gathered my stuff, turned to her and said, “Are you a writer?”
Sure, that’s the most logical first question to ask someone you’ve never met who was crying during the sermon. I’m not sure why I asked it, except that she had been taking notes during the sermon, so maybe the appearance of pen and paper made “Are you a writer?” seem like a sensible inquiry.
But she answered, “Yes, I am.”
I wasn’t even that surprised. Looking back, I’m astonished, but in the moment, it all seemed to fit.
My follow-up question, almost as unexpected (to me and to her) was, “Do you want to start a writer’s group?” We agreed to talk about it more and exchanged contact information. It wasn’t long after that when we started a monthly writer’s group.
But God couldn’t avoid being a little fancy with this whole thing. Because while He was answering this deep longing that I had for a writing community, He was affirming Sara, too. I didn’t know all of this until later, when I got to know Sara better.
Sara had just gotten divorced from a man with whom she had edited/co-written several books, and just that week had been wrestling with the question, “Am I a writer?” During their marriage it had seemed like her husband was the writer and she just helped him. But when I asked her, “Are you a writer?” it’s like all that wrestling coalesced into a “yes” that by itself was an affirmation and encouragement to her.
See what I mean? Fancy.
Sara later moved to a different part of town and no longer attends writer’s group, but we are good friends. And writer’s group continues. It’s called Word Bums and meets at Book Bums Coffee Shop in West Chester, Ohio. The group changes every month—people flow in and out of the group as projects require and time permits. We’re not a Christian writer’s group, but a lot of churchgoers attend.
Word Bums has a warmness and richness to it that I attribute to its beginning—which was, after all, me just showing up and a woman with spiky hair who listened to God.
* The Boy Who Came Back From Heaven has recently been revealed as fiction because the boy, Alex Malarkey, has recanted his story.
Susan Fuchtman 