In my hunt to find purpose, I continue to wander circles — I’ve never been great with directions. And my loops are retracing a path I paced nearly a decade ago.

I was in my bedroom, pleading with God to show me what was next. The Voice was clear enough to stop me in my pacing tracks at the foot of the bed, firm enough to still my racing heart with a squeeze that made my hair stand on end, and solemn enough to drop me to my knees.

“WRITE.”

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My high school AP English teacher had her hands full. A main goal of the school year was to prepare pupils to sit for the Advanced Placement exam, qualifying for college credit with a sufficient score. I don’t mind tests too terribly, and over-achievement is the flame to my fluttering moth-wings, so I signed up.

A month before the national exam, I informed the teacher that I would be backing out. I can’t write! I think I actually hate writing! The thoughts tumbled and spilled, petrifying me and telling me of all the things I couldn’t do. The fear of failure was crippling.

I wish I could remember Mrs. B’s exact words, but I’ll never forget her look of incredulity. She chastised me in the most loving and uplifting You will do no such thing manner, and any thought of withdrawing from the exam withered as I slunk back to my chair.

Two months later, I veritably skipped toward her as I shared that I had, in fact, passed the exam with high marks.

“See? I never doubted you for a moment.”

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I recently resigned from my job and from my church responsibilities, trying desperately to find myself under all the things I’d picked up to construct my identity. And as I stripped away all of those titles, standing as a vulnerable just Jess before the crowd, I found that there were still some who wanted to hear what just Jess had to say. And I am so grateful to you for listening and “never doubting for a moment”.

I was not just lost as I wandered those circles by my bed; I’d also lost my voice. But now that I’m telling stories again, I think I can hear my voice — unsure, feeble, wavering, but growing.

I’m still exploring what the still, small Voice of 1 Kings 19 intended with that single-word command nine years ago. For now — write or wrong — I’ll keep telling stories.