I don't really believe in magic or easy answers. Oh, I used to hope for them...when I was 10. But now that I am approaching 61, I have seen that "easy answers" come only after much hard work.
To put it another way, as a writer, I've found that I've had to work every day as though this will be the day I'll be hunted down and handed a million dollars to do what only hard work can bring me. Don't worry. I've never worked hard enough for a million dollars. It was said of one writer, an overnight sensation who spent ten years arriving at that lucky place: "He made a million dollars, but he spent six-hundred and fifty-thousand getting there." So I write stories that I love, and I hope that someone else will love them too. Sometimes I sell, and lots of times I don't, but I always love them.
I hate the testing times, those times that we must go through what makes us strong; but I love how God is able to do that, and still leave us able to love, and to give. I love that He can take our weakness -- my weakness -- and make us strong -- make me strong. In spite of me. While I'm complaining. While I'm shouting, "this should be easy. You're God, after all! Remember the universe? A flash of light, and it's there? You can make my pain go away. You can make my struggle disappear. I thought you loved me!"
How I can hurt His heart is beyond my comprehension, but I do, as I hurl insults and accusations. You see, I have every reason to be happy, and most of the time I am. I am loved by a man who lights up my world every time he walks into a room, and who lights my fire everytime he tells me that he loves me. I am adored by two daughters who can't do enough for me. I am safe in an unsafe world. I am dry. Comfortable. Well taken care of. I have everything already. Why would I want magic? Or easy answers? Why would I want riches, when the God that I worship gave everything up for me? So that I could go to Him and learn to surrender myself.
I don't want what the world can give. I want only what He gives, at least for today.