My first writer’s conference was a challenge. It wasn’t the speakers. It wasn’t the schedule. It was not the material presented. It wasn’t even the cost. It was getting over the mental struggle I faced every moment I thought about actually attending a writer’s conference. Beginning to hyperventilate, I thought “I am a fraud. I am not a writer. Who am I kidding? I should not be going to a writer’s conference. Writers conferences are for writers.” The challenge was packing, getting into the car and standing at the registration desk of the Indiana Faith and Writing Conference. The conference definitely provided fodder for thinking, processing, using and hopefully, writing. However, like most professional conferences, IFWC also gave opportunity for consultation with published authors, editors and publishers. Writing consultants, as in any profession, give good news and bad news. Every time I gingerly, apologetically, slid an essay across a table to be reviewed, I lied, “yes, I want honest feedback.” What I received then was, of course, honest feedback. This is good, this is not so good. This is effective. Hmmm…this is weak. Yet, for all the honest feedback (which I concede was wanted (sort of), needed and appreciated) I still walked away with many emotions: challenged, excited and wondering if I am called to write. Regardless of all the foregoing, at least I acquired a new arsenal of tools for my tool kit.
The very day after I returned from the conference, in midst of the challenge, wonder and excitement, I met the man with a writing kit at his side. “Perfect” I thought. He can help me wade through my mix of thoughts and fears. Believe it or not, a nameless, old man with a writing kit at his side helped me process all my takeaways from the conference.
This man lived in Jerusalem years ago, a lot of years ago, about 2600 years ago. He kept strange company as well: “six men…each with a deadly weapon in his hand.” (EZ 9:2) What caught my attention as I read this portion of Ezekiel was the description-“with them was a man clothed in linen who had a writing kit at his side.” Of course, it was the writing kit at his side which grabbed my interest. What did he write that would merit him a mention in the most popular, most read, loved and maligned book ever written? I knew I could learn from him. And, since I had just filled my own writing kit with new tools; I was ready to be taught. This is what I learned from the man in linen.
- Writing is a calling. The man in linen hung out with six dudes armed with dangerous weapons. The man in linen’s dangerous weapon? A writing kit. The man was not called to be a guard by the altar or a bodyguard or fighter; he was not called to do the task of the six dudes. But he was called. “The Lord called to the man clothed in linen who had the writing kit at his side and said to him “Go.” (EZ 9:3)
- Writing assignments can be very humble. The man was dressed in linen. He was equipped with state of the art writing implements. He was ready for the assignment, writing kit at his side. His assignment? “Go throughout the city of Jerusalem and put a mark on the foreheads of those who grieve and lament over all the detestable things that are done in it.” (EZ 9:4) Surely not, Lord. A mark? Wouldn’t a letter be better? A five paragraph essay perhaps? At least one or two pithy sentences? A mark? Okay, a mark.
- Humble writing assignments can be deceptively profound and critical. The mark which the man in linen wrote throughout the city of Jerusalem protected those who bore his writing. “Slaughter old men, young men and maidens, women and children, but do not touch anyone who has the mark.” (EZ 9:6)
- Obedience to the call is its own success. "Then the man in linen with the writing kit at his side brought back word, saying, “I have done as you commanded.” (EZ 9:11)
Do I write? Yes. Am I a writer? Maybe. The answer to that question is still waiting to be answered. For now, it is enough that I am clothed in linen, have a writing kit at my side, ready to hear, mark and obey.
