For about the last week, I've compared the Nanowrimo adventure to giving birth. I have to tell you, even though the nursery has been set up and the name picked out, the contractions have been largely of the Braxton-Hicks variety. Painful and real but unproductive.
I just couldn't get going.
Yesterday at church I had two people, in two separate conversations not ten minutes apart, tell me that the enemy does not want to see me succeed with the writing of this novel because of the damage I did to his kingdom with the first one.
If that sounds melodramatic, I urge you to read Ephesians 6:10-19, the chapter on the whole armor of God. Our battle is not with this world, as we so often, and naively, believe. Yes, we can be our own worst enemy. Yes, our choices determine our consequences. And yes, some things are just plain old hard.
But when I think about the extreme lack of productivity and focus these past few days, napping in the middle of the day, which I never do, and inability to string any coherent thought together, I have to wonder if there is something bigger at work.
In keeping with my self-aggrandizing personality (read: big head), I was pretty sure that because I've done this once the next time would be like riding a bike. Just get back on. I didn't ask for God's guidance, protection, or leadership. I was doing this on my own.
This morning, in light of this new awareness that I might not be the only thing standing in my way, I prayed. I prayed that God would give me the story He wants me to write. I prayed that He be the strength and the glory within me. I begged for Him to protect me from all things that stand in my way.
If you think of it, send up a prayer for me over this next thirty days. I need it.