I’d like to share with you how I arrived at that name.
I had one more year before I finished my third teaching contract in the United Arab Emirates when I felt God directing me home. My parents were getting older and my marriage hadn’t worked out. It was time.
During the summer holidays, I talked to my dad about buying a house. I’d saved quite a bit of money working overseas and I was so excited to be able to afford my own house at last in the States. Instead of agreeing with me, Dad brought up a different suggestion.
“I think you’d be better off moving into that space over the house where I keep my lumber. We can make it into a granny flat. You can sleep in your old bedroom. Fixing up this place will save you money in the long run. We can put a furnace up there, build you a little deck where you can drink coffee early in the morning and watch the sun rise.” The fact I didn’t drink coffee never deterred me from my decision. I’d caught the gist of my father’s dream. Besides, I loved sunrises. It felt right.
All year long, we dreamed together over the phone. He’d tell me about the new developments and I’d get more excited. Dad had a way of making that happen.
But quite suddenly– four months before my contract finished–cancer catapulted me home early. I found out my father had Stage 4 bone and lung cancers. I had so little time with him that we rarely talked about the apartment. All work halted.
It stood, a sad monument to our half-finished dream.
Before I came home, my dad had taken out all the lumber and unforgettable purchases accumulating from my world travels and stored them in an old school bus. He purchased the promised furnace. Then he had his tree workers (jack of all trades) put up the drywall. Because he knew I needed plenty of light, he put in several windows to compensate for my diminishing vision.
He died before it was complete. But mom insisted I go forward with it. “Your dad would want that.” Finishing it off was a bittersweet task. It took four or five months to do and a lot more money than it would have if Dad had been here to advise me. The shipment of belongings from my nine years in the Middle East arrived in early September and with it, came the transformation of my apartment. It looked beautiful!
I only wished my dad could have seen it.
My plan was to continue teaching, initially, and write from home in my spare time. I would gradually turn it into a full-time occupation. When I had enough money to move to the next level, I’d start to write books about my adventures.
We always called the space over the house “Dad’s wood loft.” Now it became my own little studio apartment connected to my bedroom. It had a kitchen, an office with a brand new computer and stairs leading down to a laundry room. No deck yet.
The majority of stories I wrote had to do with my travels, which always reflected my adventures and God’s lessons to me in the midst of them. When I thought of the humble beginnings of my father’s dreams for me—his wood loft—I decided to call my office and subsequent freelance business, The Lords Loft because my writing was spirit-led.
I always feel a little sad my father couldn’t finish it with me and see his dream for me realized. But those are just my feelings. A part of me knows he does see it every day and that’s why I keep the name loft in the name. I never want to forget that he believed in my dream of writing professionally and he furnished the space to make that happen.
Memories of my father exist in every nail hammered down, the blonde maple hardwood floor, the ample lighting and even the furnace in my place. My walls are filled with treasures from the countries I’ve visited. I feel good in my surroundings.
But God is the inspiration that keeps me writing each day. It is His light that comes out in my words.
So it is that I honor both my earthly father and my heavenly Father with the name of my freelance business: Christian and Inspirational Writing from … The Lord’s Loft.