One day in 1938, an eight-year-old named Betty May Street sat at her desk in La Grande, Oregon. Her pen properly filled with blue ink from a fat little bottle, she applied her best penmanship to the lined pages before her as she began her first book. Pretty soon she branched out to write recipes and a neighborhood newspaper. Fortunately, the recipes did not make it as far as the kitchen, because she knew nothing about cooking. It's also fortunate the newspaper articles did not move beyond the pencil tablet, because she made up all the news.
Out of those meager beginnings, God called me to be a writer. I didn't, however, know that for a long time—not when I finished assignments for writing classes in high school, then at Pacific College and George Fox College; not even when I began to write regularly for publication. Finally it dawned on me: God has called me to the ministry of writing as surely as he ever called a pastor or a missionary. I chose Psalm 45:17 as my writing verse: “I will make Your name to be remembered in all generations” (NKJ).
Proverbs 3:6 promises, “In all your ways acknowledge Him and He shall direct your paths.” As I write, I often thank God that he directed me along delightful, fulfilling paths I could never have found by myself. Paths that led to friendships around the world and ministry opportunities in places that little girl in La Grande didn't know existed.