Well, it's been interesting. Have you ever found that, when you're trying to follow God's call on your life, all hell breaks loose?
Yesterday was an incredibly productive, good day. I locked all characters by early afternoon. I had Book I outlined by two. Book II is halfway finished, and the metanarratives for Books III and IV are on paper. Much, much more than I expected to get done yesterday.
Then, at 4 I started to feel incredibly sick. I emailed a friend to pray. Within minutes - I'm not exaggerating - the sickness "mysteriously" went away. Praise God!
I went out around 6 to grab a bite to eat. When I returned, a neighbor in the up-scale motel I'm staying at (it's supposed to redefine '50's chic with its hipster modernism....yea, right...I recommend that no one ever, ever stay here) decided to engage me. He's been trying to create banter with me since I arrived. Eye contact. Comments over my car (I'm in my mom's bright pink escalade - don't ask). Etc. He's been drunk since my arrival. Though he creeped me out a little bit, he seemed harmless, just really drunk.
Until last night. I pulled in, parked, and he locked eyes with me as I headed to my room. I got that creepy, icky feeling girls sometime get. I know enough not to ignore it. I hightailed it to my room and bolted the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
Oh Jesus, he's knocking on my door. What now?
I called my husband for advice because the motel had left the front desk vacant with no emergency number to call. AWESOME. My husband told me to stay on the phone while I told him through the door that he was making me uncomfortable and to please leave.
He knocked again. I followed my husband's instruction. With slurring, very drunk words he tried to talk me into coming outside to talk to him. I told him he needed to leave or I would call the police. He knocked again. I hung up and dialed 9-1-1.
A day later I'm still dealing with this. In fact, the sherriff just left while I watched Donovan (that's his name) walk off the premises with his backpack. A local told me he comes through town every so often and that he's a drifter. I also found out that he's been holed up in his hotel room, drunk, for over a week (and the hotel staff didn't do anything about it!!!).
I'm leaving a day early (not another night in this place - I've learned my lesson). I don't feel angry or scared. Just incredulous - why does this always happen to me? - and sad. Sad for Donovan. I pray that he gets help somehow.
Now my writing feels kind of selfish. Kind of stupid to write about. BUT, I know that God has a purpose for it and that I have to push through. He's given me a job to do, so I'm going to do it. In spite of all the drama, I've managed to start chapter one of book one. I'm three pages in, and I really like it. It's writing itself now that it has a backbone (its outline).
So, as I told my husband earlier on the phone, I got everything I needed out of this weekend. That, and a little more. I also got the reminder that when God calls us forward it's never easy, but, in the end, it's always best. Because if I don't encounter resistance, how will my muscles grow? And grow they must for His glory. He's had me in Romans 5 this weekend. Now I see why.
Love to all and thanks for praying.