Cry Aloud, Spare Not:
Developing Voice
by Debbie Howard

Every profession has a unique language, a tribal dialect if you will. Buzz words... specialized jargon, sometimes encrypted code encase common words with an uncommon message. A message not meant for all to hear or understand.

The language brings separation and categorizes the speaker with others of like mind. Those to whom and through whom they are spoken are not moved by the inability of others to hear. "You're speaking my language. I got the message. I understand what you're saying" all become signals and beacons from a lighthouse in the dark of night. You're safe here. Come this way. The key to understanding the code is linked to like-mindedness. One such phrase among writers is "find your voice."

Understanding "Voice"

"Voice" is the unique expression, or style, that flavors our words. It is the way we "say" things in print that distinguishes us from each other.

Non-writers circles may find the term confusing. "Do you have laryngitis? Is that how you lost your voice?" Their misunderstanding is apparent at least from a writer's point of view. Writers know because they've seen the phenomena. The utterance or voice of spoken words is altogether different from the voice of written words.

To speak words is to address the audience at hand. To write is to speak in such a way that "the voice" is heard in hard to reach places; different time zones and, in David's case, another world. "I cried unto the Lord with my voice," he declared, while hiding in a cave from his enemy (Psalms 142:1).

David's voice touched heaven. His cry was recorded on parchments. He wanted future generations to hear, read and ponder the cry that can best be assimilated, expressed, and understood when written upon ink-stained paper.

Writing in Caves

My voice is crying this morning as I craft the thoughts and clear out debris from the path before me. Is this the key of David? Is there a hidden code embedded in the tears that fell to paper through his pen? Was David able to survive Saul's hostility with a pen? Could it be that David's success—as a king, a leader, a psalmist and a man after God's own heart—was intricately linked to his voice as a writer? Are you crying on paper this morning?

I'm there, with David, this morning in the cave of Adullam (1 Samuel 22). I'm watching, observing, being mentored and asking tough questions:

• Why did you seek refuge here instead of the battle field?
   
• Why did you run instead of confront?
   
• Why did you reach for your pen in that poorly lit musty cave?
   
• How can you write in those conditions, when it's not settled, not perfect, not comfortable?
   
• Who taught you to write in the "wrong" place?
   
• How did you learn to write when your life was at stake?
   
• How do you take your focus off the problem and cry with your pen on paper. When the heat is on? When your life is threatened? When you didn't know your next move, or if there would ever come a time when you no longer had to hide?

David, how did you do that? Teach me, today, how to cry with my voice.

Protecting "Voice"

Could it be David sought shelter in the cave to protect his voice? Did he flee the confrontation, the battle, the rejection to save, protect and position his voice? A voice that more than 2,000 years later would speak into a word-infused society bent on wars and rumors of war, fighting within and fighting without. Is all the struggle and contention going on in our own little world a death threat to our writing voice? Should we, like David, run for our lives to a cave?

...and cry

...with our voice

...in supplication?

Could David have been crying out on behalf of writers in our generation? Could he be leaving us an encoded message only another like-minded writer could interpret? I cried with my pen. I cried with my voice. I cried with my gift. I cried with that which has been entrusted to me by the Master of Words, The Creator of Books, The Publisher of Heaven and Earth.

I'm crying on paper, as though it's the widow's last handful (1 Kings 17:5-8). But, this is not the last meal. It's not the last barrel of ink. It's not the last known resource. You shall live and not die my faithful pen. You shall be replenished. I shall lift you up. I will treasure even this moment of "it’s all I have left." You will write. You will change the stark empty void of this paper. You will make a difference. You will cry on paper with me today as I take responsibility to shelter you from those who would rather hold a sword to fight than lift a pen and write. Oh my trustworthy pen be encouraged today. Those trying to kill you hold carnal weapons of this world. But those called of God to reign hold pens.

Saul was rejected of God. He never learned to cry with his voice on paper. He left no books, no songs, no wisdom, and no prayers of desperation. He was the people's choice. But God's choice was a writer, a penman, a wordsmith, a craftsmen of thought. David was a man who learned to target the heart of His God instead of his enemies. He accomplished this feat by crying with his voice on paper.

Your enemies cannot understand your language, your passion, your gifting. Run from them. And in the dimly lit cave of Adullam, cry unto the Lord with your voice. Out of it shall come the message that speaks after you have gone—just like David's spoke to me this morning.

Crying on Paper

David declared, "...with my voice unto the Lord did I make my supplication" (Psalms 142:1). Supplication is often used in the context of the strong and weak in negotiation. Many times it has the connotation of showing kindness to the poor and needy. To be inclined, be favorable, be kind, gracious, make lovely, implore, seek mercy.

Standing on the dirt floor of a massive church in Kampala, Uganda, a man in his twenties asked if I'd written any books. In response to my negative reply he said, "Don't die before you write those books." It was the voice of the Lord to me.

Psalms 142 echoes this man's conscious-altering statement. David, our forerunner and mentor cried with his voice. His message? Don't let me die, lose hope, draw back or give up before I write what needs to be written.

Let's make it our prayer today as well. I'll meet you in the cave. Let's cry with our
voice... on paper. Let this writing gift live and not die that it may proclaim the goodness of God.