I Was a Writer, Before the World Was

By Darvell Hunt

Returning from the all-you-can-eat buffet that was the LDStorymakers writers conference last week, I find my stomach having difficulty digesting all the information that I took in. I feel it may take awhile before some of the things I learned settle into my head as something useful.

The one thing that has already digested was information presented by Tristi Pinkston. She essentially bore testimony to us that those who attended the conference had learned to be writers long before we were born and to deny that here on earth is to bury our talent in the ground.

I have never enjoyed being called to repentance more than this one-hour session presented by Tristi. I guess I’ve always enjoyed writing, even though I haven’t always nurtured it. The realization finally came that I have always been a writer.

I was assigned to speak at my high-school graduation ceremony, longer ago that I care to admit now. One of the English teachers was assigned to make sure I didn’t make a fool of myself or the school. I wrote my speech and took it into her for evaluation. After reading it to her, she was left with a surprised look on her face. She simply told me to memorize the speech without making any suggestions of her own.

She then confided in me that she had been nervous about me bringing my speech to her, because I had never been in her drama classes, nor debate, nor anything else that would give her any indication that I knew what I was doing. Yet she approved of my speech with no changes.

Somehow, I believe, I have been given an innate ability to write. But, just like the talents given to the three men in the parable of Jesus, I have had the chance to either develop that talent, or bury it in the ground for safe keeping.

I have buried that talent many times, only to dig it up later, reform it in my hands, refine, examine, and then bury it again. No matter what I do, though, I find myself continually prompted to dig up my talent and try to rework it.

Tristi has prompted me to not bury it ever again, but rather nurture, feed, further refine it, and multiply it as well as I can. I hope when the Master comes, I can show him my writing and say, “I have done the best I can,” and offer it to him in humble confidence.