In 1981, my husband and I were given two free tickets to see Chariots of Fire, the motion picture that depicted the stories of Eric Liddelland Harold Abrahams, two runners in the 1924 Olympics. Liddell had been made famous, not only by his athletic abilities, but by his decision not to run on a Sunday. That decision catapulted Harold Abrahams to a gold medal, something he could not have done with Eric Liddell running against him.

And I got to go see the movie. For free. And for my opinion about the film, which had not officially released.

Full disclosure: My newborn was still new at the time, I had been “house-bound” for a few months, and (quite honestly), I would have gone to see Night of the Living Dead if someone had given me free tickets, just for two hours of uninterrupted sitting. And air outside my own home.

So, we went. And we loved the movie. And then I came home, pulled the “L” encyclopedia (remember those?) off a bookshelf, and read more about a man I’d previously never heard of but whose story deserved a movie.

Fast forward to 2016. I receive a call from my agent Jonathan Clements. He tells me that Tyndale Publishers (who published my last two novels) has contracted a pastor named Eric Eichinger to write a book about Eric Liddell. A biography, he says. Eichinger is a sort of Liddell expert and a good writer, but Tyndale wants someone with fiction writing background to come alongside. As it turned out, I already knew Eichinger (or EE as I call him). I also knew Liddell. But what I didn’t know was how “with-writing” a story I thought I knew would change me.

Now, slow forward to February 2017. EE and I (referred to in our emails as “ee”) are well into our work on the Liddell project (since titled The Final Race), which taught me volumes about living life on a single narrow path. I’m also the director of Florida Christian Writers Conferenceand this is Day 1. Sort of pre-conference day for those who like an early start. I’m buzzing around, doing my director thing, when my phone rings. The caller is my brother who lives in Sylvania, Georgia, which is about 60 miles west of Savannah. He’s calling to tell me whether the “mass” the doctors found the week before is malignant or benign. “It’s malignant,” he says. My brother is not married, nor does he have children. Our parents have both moved on to Glory. “When does everything start?” I ask, knowing my role and place is to be with him when it does. And happily so.

“Monday,” he says.

The conference concludes Sunday afternoon. “I’ll be there Sunday night,” I tell him. When we disconnect the call I am struck by one knee-buckling thought: My baby brother has cancer. If writing The Final Race has taught me nothing else, it is this: cancer is a bear when it comes to disrupting our plans for our lives. I can also say with confidence that God is shocked by nothing, but “nothing” often takes us quite by surprise.

Moving on to sometime in March. Between writing … and directing … and speaking … and the contests directing at BRMCWC … and being with my brother (which means back and forth trips to Savannah) … I’m pooped. I’m also speaking at a new writers retreat, Blue Lake CWR, held in a lovely wooded area outside of Andalusia, AL. I have my own room there. It’s nothing to write home about, but it’s quiet and clean. There’s a bed, of course. A desk. Two end tables. One of the end tables holds a folded piece of paper I’ve not bothered to look at. There’s a window looking out on the parking lot and a small bathroom. Nope, this is not the Ritz, but the bed is pretty comfy, so I’m pleased as punch. What I really wanted–needed–was a single good night’s sleep.

On the last day of the retreat, as I head out of the room for the last time, fully rested and dragging my suitcase behind me, I notice the paper again, the one sitting on the nightstand. I hear a whisper in my heart. Pick it up. So I do. And then I shove it into my purse and bring it home with me. It’s not until I’ve reached my office that I fully read the information about the retreat center’s prayer labyrinth. This is where I realize I’m not overly-familiar with these ancient encouragers of focused prayer, so I went to Google and began to research, writing in my journal what I discovered, then using the formula in my own prayer-journaling. The Path of Silence … The Path of Memory … The Path of Questioning …

The latter path had me stumped. I don’t have that many questions for God. A few, yes, but after a few laps around the labyrinth, I’m pretty much good to go. I penned this dilemma in my journal, letting God know I didn’t know how to handle this part of the new journey I found myself “walking” on. That’s when the still, small voice came again: Not your questions. My questions.

Within days, my journal pages began to fill up with the questions God has asked–the ones we’ve recorded in Scripture. Where are you?; What have you done?; Where are you from and where are you going? Questions God already had the answers to, but by asking, He demanded that we examine ourselves in the results. What is it you want from me? left me nearly staggering for the remainder of the day.

Now, on to October 2017. I’ve been accepted in a program where I will sit at the feet of Robert Bensonfor five days along with 11 others. We’re at a retreat center in Canton, MS, outside of Jackson, home of Eudora Welty. Not only is the teaching superb, the writing time priceless, and the food tasty … they have a prayer labyrinth. I decide, one afternoon during writing time, to walk between the river rocks that form its paths. But instead of feeling spiritual, I get dizzy within its tight lines and head back down the hill to my room … and my journal. It’s safer there.

All of this begins to take shape.

The book on Eric Liddell (EL). My brother’s cancer (and successful, albeit scary, surgeries). The piece of paper on the nightstand. My new practice of prayer labyrinth journaling. The spiritual writing retreat with Robert Benson and 11 others. Something inside me stirred and stirred until it formed something new. Something that led me to a greater (although still not complete) understanding of what God wants from me and, quite honestly, what I want from God. I also found myself in new, frightfully wonderful places within the publishing world (them being exactly where God wanted me).

Until, finally, this nearly year-long season led to a place where God asked me the most difficult question of all: Why do you think I called you to write?

My answer led to something too good, too wonderful, too inspiring to keep to myself. I want to share it! I need to share it! I must!

So, I went to Edie Melson, director of BRMCWC. What if, I wrote (or something close to this), I lead a different practicum this year? What if, this year at BRMCWC, we have a practicum that helps us learn who we are in Christ? Who Christ is in us, and why He called us in the first place to this marvelous thing called writing?

Then, I gave this suggested description:

So often, as writers, we ask God questions. Daily, we run to Him with concerns and pleadings. “When is this going to happen?” and “When is that door going to swing open for me?” We wonder “Why her and not me?” or “Should I take this road to publication or that one?” After awhile, it can become exhausting, especially if we feel God is either ignoring us or that He hears and refuses to answer. But what if God is waiting for us to hear His questions? And what if we could dig into those questions and discover the answers we’ve been waiting on all along … or perhaps find a different path?

In this new practicum, Eva Marie Everson shows participants the method God used with her to bring her writing to a deeper level, her role in Christian publishing to a higher place, and her heart to a new rung of understanding what it was exactly that God wanted from her. Participants should come prepared to listen, to write, and to share so that at the end of the conference they’ll not only know the hows of writing, but the “why for”as well. Limit ten. Must pre-register.

Edie agreed. A new practicum was born. Last year, at BRMCWC 2018, I accepted only a handful of conferees to join me on this maiden voyage. The results were unbelievable; I learned I am not the only one whose heart God is piercing. Whose chains He rattles. I have since spoken on this topic a sweet handful of times and, each time, the results leave me breathless.

So, we’re doing it again this year! I’m accepting only ten … ten writers who struggle with it all. Ten who know how to write, but lost why they write. Those who have become bogged down in the marketing and the word counts and the social media and the constant looking around to see what everybody else is doing (or what God is doing in their lives and careers). Those who need to get back to the basics. To where this began. Or, those who haven’t quite learned the how, but are still at the basics and they’re scared out of their mind to take these first steps on this amazing new journey.

Let’s start with Question #1: What are you waiting for?

To pre-register, email Eva Marie at PenNhnd@aol.comwith Labyrinth Practicum in the subject line.