What is your calling?

What is your calling?

It was the end of British summertime 1994.

I had become a child of God earlier that same year – Easter. Six months later I was invited to join a close friend on a Christian women’s retreat at a secluded coastal Georgian country house.

I was to receive a calling which I avoided for over 20 years.

This is a brief story from when I first knew I would write and publish my memoir.

Throughout the weekend retreat I was emotionally moved by the many stories these women shared. Surrounded by 3 generations these women poured out their deepest longings, struggles and joys. It was a time of sisterhood as many found consolation in sharing their heartfelt sufferings along with the wonders of their Christian faith.

Together we laughed, wept and tenderly held one another in acts of loving-kindness.

Some of these stories echoed with my life experience of past hurts such as domestic violence and sexual abuse. Unlike some of these women I was no longer trapped by the pain and neglect I had encountered as a young child. My life journey had enabled me to heal and recover, develop a career in nursing and become financially independent.

I spent some quiet time wandering along the beach wanting some uninterrupted solitude to reflect on my time here. Searching questions began to emerge. Why was I here? What is the purpose of this retreat? Is there a message for me?

It reminded me of when as a teenager I had a similar experience:

Before I left, I took some time out to reflect on my experience over the summer. Sitting quietly on the beach in the early autumn haze, calmly gazing across the rolling waves, breathing in the fragrant sea air, I slowly began to reconstruct what had happened throughout my stay. I began to look deeply into the rubble of my life, and I soon uncovered pieces of knowledge about myself. There was a stranger living in me, a young woman with a gentle and quiet spirit. I befriended her and listened. This was my true self calling out, showing me the way. I was starting to make sense of this unique seaside experience. I was getting to know myself in more depth. I was finding freedom from the unknown. Lost in the moment, old assumptions were being washed away by the rhythm of the sea. There was a sense of inner space where grace was able to flow and tenderly touch my soul. Beautiful fresh insights were emerging from this emptiness. Like the seagulls above I was no longer stranded by limitation. I was learning to fly.

The Grace of a Nightingale pp. 54-55

Sizewell Hall

Once again befriended by the wonders of a coastal shoreline I noticed an inner stirring. Then it arrived in the silence of a moment. It was an epiphany, which would remain hidden for many years like a secret treasure trove.

As I became lost in the mystery and beauty of this place I felt a call to ‘write my story’ ‘show others how you coped’ ‘tell them how you have recovered and healed’.

‘I cant write a book’ was my initial response. ‘Why me? I am a nurse not a writer. I’m from a working class background with no connections to the literary world. At school I was a failure many times over. I was aware I lacked the confidence let alone the capability of writing my memoir. Fear of judgement and not being believed haunted me. I was running away. Like so many of the other reluctant biblical characters some prophets others disciples, I was resisting God’s call. Lack of self-belief enabled me to disregard God’s will.

But this is not a story steeped in misery and despondency. It is one of forgiveness, love and hope. It reveal’s God’s grace, mercy and compassion and shows how we have a shared humanity.

I spent the next 20 years wrestling with God and my call to write. Selfish defensive excuses combined with further mitigating traumas provided distractions. Some it could be argued were permissible like coping with my father’s suicide, divorce and my near death experience following the insertion of a surgical mesh. Others were driven by egocentric career ambitions such as studying for a Masters degree and pursuing promotion.

Despite my resistance I began to read prolifically from fiction to non-fiction. It ranged from spirituality, self-help, poetry, classics, historical, psychology, childrens and adults. I often had two, three or maybe four on the go at the same time  I made notes constantly. I scribbled inside the books I read, in notebooks and on scraps of paper which became scattered throughout the house. Unknowingly, I had begun to write my book. My memoir was determined to be written with or without my awareness.

Eventually following one of the most turbulent period’s of my life I said “yes”.

All previous thoughts and feelings of self-doubt evaporated like an early morning summer mist.

It became clear this was my ministry. God wanted me to serve Him faithfully. I had reached a stage in my life whereby I was no longer trapped by the good opinion of others. I had nothing to prove and I would not be intimidated by rejection.

It was time to begin.

I told myself ‘if I am to write this book I will be given all that I need’. Within a year I had enough money to buy a computer, I found a loyal and discerning editor and by the second year I had found a publisher. I began to write. I wrote the first sentence  ‘What is your earliest childhood memory’? and then the book almost wrote itself. It had its own momentum and direction. Chapter after chapter poured out. Irrespective of thirteen or more edits the first sentence never changed. Despite continuing ill health and further losses, 3 years later I went on to publish my memoir internationally with Arrow Gate Publishing.