When cleaning through my bookshelf a few months ago, I found a journal that I had to write in for school when I was in second grade. Not only was I a riot of a writer and a spunky child; I was also dedicated and I believed in myself. I did not know the Lord yet, but the Lord knew me, and he had a plan for me that I believe started with a little seed He planted deep in my heart.
On January 31, 2000 (more than 18 years ago!), my seven-year-old self wrote: “I can be a writer and write a lot of books. I will write stories at school and draw pictures, like now. And when I get to be a grown-up, I will make thousands of books.”
If only she knew what she would become. If only she knew what would happen to her. Just thinking about the goodness of God in the mess of my life brings tears to my eyes.
When I was a little girl, I loved to read. Not only did I enjoy stories, but I also enjoyed words. I prided myself in being the best reader in kindergarten, and then in getting an award for my writing in first and second grade. My dream of writing books stemmed out of my passion for reading and for words. I didn’t want to make a name for myself. I didn’t want to make money. At seven years old, I wanted to write a book that children like me would enjoy.
Don’t worry, little dreamer, your time is coming soon.
I had written those words just before my life took a turn for the worst. When I wrote these words, I didn’t know what anxiety was at the time. I didn’t know what divorce was at the time. I didn’t know that my puppy that I was excited to get would only live a few months before he was tragically hit by a car. I thought evil stepparents only existed in fairy tales. But shortly after I composed this journal, I learned the true weight of evil in the world, and I suffered greatly because of it.
I’ve written a book about a woman who struggles with anxiety and faith. At that young age of seven, I’d gone to Sunday school and had learned a foundation for my future relationship with Christ, but I did not know Him yet. This book will be what my seven-year-old self needed, the weapons she needed to slay the beasts that were attacking her poor innocent soul.
Just like my seven-year-old self predicted, I already have three other ideas for adult fiction, and I have one idea for a children’s book. It’s not quite a thousand, but it’s close.
They say that the first book is the most difficult to publish traditionally. However, once I learn the market, once I find my voice, they say it will be like clockwork. After writing the first one, I’ll be able to write thousands after that.
Don’t worry, little dreamer, your time is coming soon.
I dedicate my first novel, and every novel after that, to my seven-year-old self, the girl who believed in me when no one else did, the girl who had a dream and who wanted it to be done. If she was ever able to jump into a time machine and come talk to me now, to ask me if I ever became a writer, I want to look her straight in her innocent blue eyes, with her sweet smile, and tell her that her dream came true.
Don’t worry, little dreamer, your time is coming soon.
Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me thus far, and to every family member and friend that has helped me along the way. You watched this little dreamer grow up, and you know that there is no turning back now.
Elisabeth Warner 