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 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 Conference and 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. 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.

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 Benson for 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? 

Edie agreed. A new practicum was born. I’m accepting ten on this maiden voyage. 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.com with New Practicum in the subject line.

Eva Marie Everson is the bestselling and multi-award winning author of both fiction and nonfiction work. She is the president of Word Weavers International (word-weavers.com) and the director of Florida Christian Writers Conference. Eva Marie is a popular speaker at writers conferences across the United States and the Contest Director for Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers Conference. Eva Marie is a seminary graduate and student and has taught a Bible study for over 20 years. Either she’s really good and the folks just can’t get enough … or she’s really bad and they’re still trying to learn something (the jury is out). Eva Marieand her husband enjoy their three grown children and children-in-love and are especially proud of their grandchildren. They are owned by their dog, Poods.