arts4peace wrote a blog on inspiration and asked what it is that inspires us.  This is what I wrote in response.

I have always loved anything to do with inspiring words.  Had I lived in Hitler's world, I would have been a goner for his cause, just because of the charisma of his manner, and the quality of pursuasion; not just because I am a wimp.  I would have been totally sincere, but of course, sincerely wrong.  I am just using him as an example.

I have always loved God, and loved church, in spite of growing up in rebellion and kicking against the pressure that was put on me to set an example and be a perfect girl in a glass cage, on display for all the world to see.  Therefore, I loved church, the praise and worship, and most of all, the sermons, if they were delivered in an enthusiastic, charismatic  manner, and flowered with interesting anecdotes and stories. 

Even the Bible stories fascinated me.  Of course, having grown up on the pews of a church, whether asleep or awake, this was a natural environment for me, so it was good that I enjoyed it most of the time.  In Sunday school, a SS teacher can make or break a child's love for God's word.  My imagination would run wild and free, thinking of all the exciting things that would take place in the Bible days.  I would put myself in the place of Ruth, Esther or even Bathsheba, who was loved by the legend, David.  I was a real drama queen, and could imagine most situations; of course, I would either be tragically abused, or the heroine of the story.  I believe God places imagination in a child as a defense mechanism and sometimes even a life saving device.

And, of course, my little heart would shudder that people like Ananias and Sapphira were carried out dead because of the lie that they told to the Holy Ghost.  So I was not keen on that side of the story and tried my best to please God as well as everyone else, while my heart was asking why we had to be so different from the rest of the world, and had to be deprived of so many things...why, why, why?

Therefore, this tug of war going on from my earliest memories, between the white dog and the black dog. 

Then, when I was eight years old, I had an experience with the Lord, receiving the baptism of the Holy Spirit.  God started wooing me and bringing about a love affair with him that would last the rest of my life.  I would cry and pray, and tell him how much I loved him, and then go out and do things explicitly forbidden by Him, the church and His word.  Needless to say this was torment, to say the least.  But I got used to the agony and the drama of it all.

Yet, I would be inspired; I would write songs and poetry of my love for God, and then of my desire for the love and things of this world.  I was trying to play the chameleon, and as many do, I got it right for a long while.  My talents were used, in and out of the church, and for contrasting purposes, but all trying to fill the longing deep in my soul.

Then, just a few years back, I slipped into a full-fledged rebellion, even though I was still sitting on the church bench most times that the doors were open; this was my salvation, for I could not be into drugs or drunk and go to church at the same time.  I could not run away from home and be there on Sunday.  Needless to say, I was totally miserable now, more than I was happy.

And yet, I was not abandoned; Christ just stood and waited, tugging at my heart when people told me how much they loved me and were there for me if I needed them, by my husband being there, in spite of adultery and outright scorn for him on my part, and of course, the Lord's spoken word...it did something to my insides that a handsome man or a talented singer would do for any other girl. He had planted that love in me, and it would ultimately be my salvation.

Then, something happened to change my life forever, and a chord inside me, awakened my sleeping spirit.  It was like the scales fell from my eyes, and I decided that it was not worth the fight any more; I would just settle down and do his bidding and let him take over the struggle and see what happened. 

If you have ever read "The Taming of The Shrew" by William Shakespeare, you will know exactly how things turned out.  When I surrendered the struggle to him, and just let him start to fight my battles, when I did his bidding, by praising him when I did not even feel like it, or went to church when it took everything out of me......things started to turn around and I experienced peace.  The words that I had always loved and which had inspired me for five minutes and then left, started to be a healing balm for my bruised and tattered soul, and inspiration came to me, to live to write to sing, to dance.

Now, the struggles still crop up in large order, from time to time, and I still find myself succumbing to them because some circumstances have still not changed.  But I am building a memorial before the Lord, and he said that each time I pray, he is storing my prayers and my tears as a sweet smelling ointment in a bottle...and when it is full, he is going to pour out blessings which I am not able to contain, and my joy will be full.  In the presence of the Lord, and in His word, are my inspiration; He gives me strength to go on.  Everything I am and all that I do, is because of Him, and the inspired word of God.