I write nothing without You. I go nowhere without You. That is how I have learned to live these past dozen or so years. And everything that has come from my hands is for Your glory. And everywhere I have gone, I have gone because of You.
And You are near, just as You said You would be.
And He is there, just as He promised. God.
It came back to me last Saturday as I was peeling carrots for lunch. I was thinking about what to write for my next piece. Different subjects kept running through my mind, but that was all they did—run through my mind. I could say I didn’t feel them. But the truer thing is that they weren’t inspired by Him.
There were two Anias fighting inside me.
The first: I have to write something. I decided I would post on Mondays. There has to be some consistency.
The second: If I have to force myself to write, what’s the point? That’s not what God and I agreed on. I was meant to write so that people would know it came from Him. So that He would be glorified.
I sliced the carrot and let it go. Relief.
And right after that decision, these two sentences formed inside me. First: “I write nothing without You.” And suddenly I remembered that it was the same with life: “I go nowhere without You.”
“Unless the Lord builds the house, They labor in vain who build it; Unless the Lord guards the city, The watchman stays awake in vain.” Psalms 127:1 NKJV
This isn’t about sitting around with my hands folded, waiting. It’s about agency that comes from Him. Woven deep into relationship.
Every piece of writing begins in me. In discomfort, pain, a thought, joy, an impression. In something that moves me, which I usually jot down very briefly.
And I carry it with me. With questions: “There is someone who needs this. What should I write about? How should I say it?”
And He gives me the words.
I don’t have time for these pieces.
Every week, there is a plan to go to my favorite café and write. If I know the subject, I can take a piece from nothing to ready for publication in two hours. Journaling taught me how to do that. And motherhood.
Every week, I write in a hurry, in between everything else. Between David climbing all over me. Francis asking me to read him a book. Joseph asking endless questions, each one more complicated than the last. Laundry, because a diaper leaked during the night. Cooking, because we have to eat.
Almost every week, I want to give up. I think I can’t keep up with the speed of these days and all the distractions. With jumping back and forth between here and the text. But then I remember that otherwise, I won’t do it at all. I can put it off for a few years, or I can write in the circumstances I have.
And I want to write. I want to serve. I want to be Ania. Even though, right now, I am a mother first.
I came here by myself. By my own decisions. To Mozambique. To ministry. To my husband. To three sons. But I didn’t come here because it was my own idea, or by my own strength. It was Him. He called. And I believed Him.
So it’s either this way, or not at all.
I also dream of finishing a book. To do that, I would have to get up at five in the morning. Which would mean sleeping five or six hours a night. My body can’t carry that anymore. It used to be easy for me. Now the body complains quickly. When it’s tired, it can’t even do the simplest things and stay in peace.
But, is it either this way, or not at all?
Or… later.
P.S. What feels impossible to you? Maybe because you’re trying to do it on your own strength. Or maybe because you simply don’t have the right circumstances right now.
/ If you enjoy the way I write, you can buy me a virtual coffee. It will help me keep creating. Thank you! The link to the Buy Me a Coffee is here. /