Suggestion: Ooohh... Write a mystery!

(This entry was written stream of consciousness with no editing and was based on a suggestion from the "audience.")

It was midnight when I finally sat down at my desk in the corner where I would normally sit to knock out a few pages before sleep. The kids were tucked away and Marlo was reading in her sewing chair downstairs, quite content and in no need of my attention. With "Dunderblocks" recently completed I found myself back to brainstorming a new work.

For years the plots came easy to me and I had journals filled to the brim with ideas for my next novel with the promise of the well never running dry. It was usually just a matter of picking something promising from the tattered pages and fleshing it out over a week's worth of evenings. Now I found myself at the end of my notes... the ideas of my youth gone and no sign of the next around the bend... I cradled my head in my hands and for the first time in over 2 years I cried. Who would I be if I were not a writer? A father certainly... and a husband... a leader in our church and a mentor to an afterschool program... But what would I be for me?

"If this is not the end" I prayed quietly through my tears "then God, if it is your will, please open another door."

Several minutes of silence followed and then the sound of my study door creaking announced a tiny visitor. "Not now please Micah." I said as kindly as I could... "Daddy is crying and praying right now."

"I can't sleep" he said in a voice too cute to ignore. "Can I cry and pray too?" I tried to breathe and smile and then I wiped my face and motioned him over to sit on my lap. He crawled into place and looked up at me... his eyes squinched in what I could only assume was an attempt to cry with me. "What are we crying and praying about?"

"Daddy is scared Micah. He doesn't know what to write next and he is scared what that might mean." From the birth of my first son I swore that I would never be closed off to my children... I would always be honest and open with anything that I thought they could handle.

He bowed his head, squinched his eyes and we sat again in the silence that only this room could provide. Suddenly and with great energy and bright eyes he grabbed my shirt as if our faces were not close enough already... "OOh!" he said.

Seeing my startled response he calmed down as he was always instructed when he got hyper and he aimed and fired the thought again but with more control this time. "Ooh, write a mystery!"

I stared at him and felt a grin grow through my cheeks. "It doesn't work like that Micah. But thank you so much for helping me think."

"I think..." he persisted "That you should write a mystery. And it should be about someone who helps people find peace." And with that he hopped off my lap, turned, nodded firmly as if had just given me some tough love, and headed off toward his room. "Love you Daddy! 'night!"

"Goodnight Micah!" I laughed a little. It is hard not to when everything they say and do is that cute. I turned back to the desk and saw where my wife had laid out two fresh packs of post it notes and a sharpie marker for me. She knew my process as well as she knew my soul.

I unwrapped the first pack of post-it's and tucked the sharpie behind my ear... I did this out of habit... Out of impulse... Muscle memory doing its work... I uncapped the sharpie and on the first page I wrote "new." Pulled it free from the stack and stuck it on the wall. I stared at the pad... nothing else came... out of fear I wrote "Novel" and placed it next to its brother... I felt the tears starting to well up again... the uncertainty growing... and from a place of insecurity I wrote "mystery" on the next note... tore it free... "Help" then "Peace" then "Micah" and then I couldn't stop... "Boy" then "Detective" then "Christian" then "murder" and on and on...

I was up till 6am that morning... I couldn't stop myself... I used every post-it we had in the house and two sharpies went dry in the process...

And there it was. On my wall was another great novel begging to be worked into the page.

I made my way out of my study and heard the stirrings of life in the house... preparing for work and school... and I went to Micah's door and met him on his way to our hall bathroom... I picked him up, gave him a giant hug that I hoped said "thank you" and sent him off to wash the sleep out of his eye.

At my favorite spot on the front lawn I thanked God for being so swift in his work. Some might say it isn't possible that Micah's idea was from God. But I know that nothing is outside his reach. Nothing is too big for him. Miracles are like breathing to him, so why would an idea from a boy's lips just moments after I requested it be impossible?

I smiled and laughed and headed for bed and some much needed sleep.

~Jim