nathan foster, wisdom chaser (p. 124-125)

It seems that long before my father actually began writing, he secretly dreamed of one day authoring a book. He told this dream to no one, however; not even to my mom. Then one day he was praying with a veteran missionary friend, a man of unusual discernment and wisdom. Laying his hands on my father, this wise old missionary began praying a deep, power-filled prayer. "I pray," he declared, "for the hands of a writer!" My dad's friend had just spoken openly the secret desire of my father. This friend had seen something in my father and given him permission to risk. Dad took this experience as a quiet affirmation for him to pursue the very thing he was too shy to verbalize for himself: a ministry of writing.

It would be nice to say that he achieved because he believed in himself, or because he had the ingenuity and self-determination that it took to succeed, that he pulled himself up by his bootstraps. Yeah, that would be nice. But it wouldn't be true at all. That's hero talk. That's American folklore.

My father became a writer not only because he worked hard, but because he had a supportive community who believed in him, and together they asked God for a gift.



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discipline is doing what needs to be done when it needs to be done.