In 1955, Crockett Johnson introduced the world to a character named Harold, and we fell in love with the toddler who expressed his imagination through a purple crayon. Harold could wield that crayon and create almost anything. If he could imagine it, he could create it.
As a writer, I have a bit of the Harold Syndrome. My imagination likes to run amuck. I want to write about grace and conversion and the good news of the Gospel. I want the stories to inspire and convict and generate a zeal for the New Evangelization. I can just imagine how the stories might go – and how those stories might stir the hearts of readers.
Unfortunately, reality is rarely good fodder for my pen.
My imagination typically resembles the world of purple crayons rather than the reality of God’s plan. As a writer, I imagine how another’s conversion should go, and I want to write the story into reality. The story is big and fantastic and dripping with grace. All the ups and downs come together for a climactic moment that rivals the best of conversion stories.
The fundamental problem with all of this is that the story is just a story. It exists only in my imagination. And living in the land of purple crayons ultimately leads to frustration and disappointment. It isn’t real.
Real life is messy and difficult. Grace doesn’t usually show up when or how I’d like. As a Catholic writer, I am writing nonfiction. And nonfiction doesn’t consult the writer. Nonfiction is a combination of God’s will and human weakness. It’s usually messy and difficult, and only rarely good for spiritual storytelling.
As much as I would like to be Harold with his magic crayon, I am just a woman with a pen and a prayer. Thankfully, I have a role model in my patron saint.
When I converted, I chose St. Teresa of Avila for my saint. She was a Catholic writer who lived hundreds of years ago, but in reading her books, I saw the Church in a new and beautiful way. It made me want to be Catholic. Eventually, it made me want to be a Catholic writer.
I wanted to stir another person’s soul as she had done for me. I wanted to write words that would cause another to see the Catholic Church as the treasure that she is. I’ve come to realize one thing about St. Teresa of Avila. It wasn’t her pen that converted me. It was her prayer life, both on earth and in heaven.
She didn’t change my world with a purple crayon (or a quill and inkwell); she changed my world through prayer.
My life was messy and difficult and you know what? It still is. I think St. Teresa can relate to all of that. And I think she would say that the messiness of life can be a good thing. Maybe it doesn’t make for a good story, but it certainly drives us to our knees and keeps us there. Prayer is the most important tool in our spiritual arsenal. She may have been a writer, but St. Teresa chose prayer over the pen.
The Catholic pen simply captures what prayer has wrought.
Like my beloved saint, I find the greatest peace when I am on my knees in front of the Blessed Sacrament, not when I am writing. I find my greatest contentment when I am yielding to God’s will, not writing story lines as my imagination would have them go.
And I thank God for my saint, who continues to intercede and guide and to teach me to put down my purple crayon and embrace the greatest tool I have as Catholic Christians. Prayer.
St. Teresa of Avila, pray for us!
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