My Watcher at The Gate

It has been said that writers have a “watcher at the gate”, better known as writer’s block, that holds them back from writing. Perhaps, this is true of most writers, but this has not been true about me for many, many years.

You see, my Watcher has been with me, and He has been my friend for as long as I can remember. He has never closed the gate on my writing; instead, He has called and inspired me. He has been with me through sadness and when I’ve experienced marvelous joy. He has brought wonderful blessings to me through my writings. I’ve always been aware of his presence and the unique relationship I've had with him.

When I was born, my destiny was to die very young according to the best medical knowledge at the time. My father refused to accept this fate for me. He held me in his arms or stayed by my beside through many hours and days and months when I was considered close to death.

My mother’s family resented my father’s efforts with me. I could hear them talking about me from the back bedroom where I was kept. They may have believed I was unconscious or asleep because they were quite vocal about wanting me to die so the family wouldn’t have the burden of my care. My grandmother said my father had no business “just willing me to live” and that the money he had spent to kept me alive should have been spent on the rest of my family.

I’d feel guilty and sorry about being so much trouble to everyone. I didn’t know exactly what dying meant but I knew it was very serious because of the harshness that settled over the people around me when the doctors would talk about me dying. Whatever lt Was, I knew that I wouldn’t be afraid if Daddy was with me when it happened.

My daddy would be upset when I wasn’t given my medicine or fed exactly like the doctors ordered and he would be furious when he'd catch someone saying things where I could hear, He’d pick me up in his arms and hold me and talk to me. He repeated some of the same words over and over. He told me my creator created me “to live” not “to die”. That God is the ultimate power and that “He alone”has the right to decide who can live and who is to die. He would tell me to relax and know that I was going to live. he told me to spend my time thanking God for the day when I’d be able to write books that would help lot s of other people.

My fragility and weakness forced me to rely solely upon Daddy and my “Watcher”. Anything Daddy told me to do, I did and anything he told me to believe, I believed. He taught me to listen to that little voice inside my head.

When Daddy wasn’t with me, my Watcher was. It was almost like he would whisper in a soft musical voice “you are going to live; your Daddy is right! He’s right! You are going to live,” and so this is how Daddy and my Watcher brought me through my first ten years of life.

Then one day my world ended abruptly.

Daddy was taken away and died while he was away. I did not cry at his funeral, and I refused to look at his grave, but when alone I begged God to bring my daddy back.

My Watcher never left me. As my father had repeated over and over that I was going to live, it seemed as though my Watcher was telling me that “Death is not the End”; that someday I would understand this and that my daddy had wanted me to live. Sometimes I would wake up from a sound sleep and it would seem as though I had had dreams in which my Watcher would tell me the things I must do in life.

I turned to reading and writing to ease my own pain. My grades in English, (but not spelling) were always superior in grade school. My teachers called me gifted and I wrote plays, short stories, and poems. My gate for writing was wide open.

When some of my attempts at writing were laughed at by my peers and siblings, my Watcher was there to console me. Again, it seemed as though words of comfort and encouragement were placed in my mind by my Watcher, while I was asleep. In this way he has taught me all that I know.

Long ago when I was so crushed by my father’s death, my Watcher reinforced within me the belief that my Creator created me to write and to write abundantly during my declining years. He gave me a blueprint to go by to be prepared for this writing. In this blueprint were instructions to learn tolerance and understanding, to respect others, to learn patience, not to walk away from responsibility or to let others down, and to fully understand that “others" include all people of all races and people of all religions.

I’ve had to study hard, to learn, and above all I have had to believe in a power higher than my own. However, I have felt and still feel at times, closed in with responsibilities. I have feelings of anxiety like a horse must have when it is closed inside a barn. but yearning to be free. My watcher takes over at these times!

Sometimes I’m helpless just like the frail child I was when Daddy held me and told me I was not going to die. As an adult, I also hear my Watcher like a soft musical voice inside my head. Only now the words say, “Have patience, let understanding in, gain everything positive you can from every situation”, and gradually my own strength returns. Then I can search each cloud for a silver lining or to find some way to turn something bad into something good.

When the storm clouds of life have been very dark and brought tragedies including the loss of family members after my father’s death, my Watcher has been with me. He gives me my strength and courage. He brings me my comfort; He is my protector. He tells me I can when there is no visible way. He tells me there is light when only darkness can be seen. Because of Him, I hear the songs of the Humming Birds all around me when others seem unaware that they exist. I see beauty and splendor which others cannot always see and I feel the glory and majesty everywhere.

As I pray for the patience, wisdom, and guidance to complete my purpose by fulfilling my Creator's plans for me. That soft musical voice inside my head says, “all things are possible”; "Ask and you shall receive”; “Believe”; “Only believe"; and I know that my Watcher is that spark of the eternal spirit of my Creator. lndeed, He is my Creator.

At these times all doubts about life disappear. When I have been supposed to write, I have written. When I am supposed to write again, I will write. My gate is open. My soul is content, and I listen quietly to the soft songs of the Humming Birds.