Mentor

If it weren’t for John Wilson, I wouldn’t have experienced one-thousand-nine-hundred-ninety-nine life-changing events. That’s an approximate guess —I’m no math whiz.

Someone believed in me when I was at the proverbial crossroads of my journey. He took a chance on me, giving me the courage to take the unknown road.

Writers don’t get paid much unless they are famous. It wasn’t fame or fortune I sought— I wanted an identity. To become the person God intended me to be. I was a writer at age four. I knew it then, but the world has a noisy way of leading you off course and driving you to doubt.

God uses every turn we take and causes good to come of it. Gale winds had forced me down the wrong path, yet gentle breezes would refresh and guide me. Hailstones pounded me, yet the rain washed me clean. I shook my fist at the storms of life and stood on shaky legs, daring the storm to smite me again. John Wilson gave me a voice.

I had learned a lot.

Wisdom is for the asking, but when we don’t seek her, she comes at a price. Our Father lovingly chastens, teaches, heals, and strengthens us until we arrive at that place of complete surrender—an empty vessel, asking Him to fill us. I wanted to share that with my writing.

What I adore most about John is his humility. He never seeks accolades or cares about being at the top —yet that is where you will find him.

A devout historian, a lover of the land, a journalist/editor/author/publisher, and there is a park named in his honor. He may not be known for his people skills, but John has the plumpest, dearest heart when lifting his fellow man. If you learn how to read him, you will find the treasure most don’t.

The day he allowed me to write for his successful publication was when I obtained my identity. “A Chattanoogan on Long Island” began my identity (and byline). If my writing in 2011 were a color, it would most definitely be green, but John saw potential. With quick, to-the-point emails, he’d instruct me.

“Desert has one S, and dessert has two – think of dessert being sickeningly sweet.”

My weekly column came straight from my head – sometimes humorous and other times inspiring. It was challenging when John trusted me to write POIs (Persons of Interest). My writing became more graceful, though I still had a long way to go. Interviewing anyone and everyone was thrilling! Meeting the wonderful people of Chattanooga opened doors and made lasting friends.

Identity.

Without fear, I’d make the call, “This is Jen Jeffrey of the Chattanoogan Online News Publication, and I would love to interview you for a profile piece.” Then came the fun part… “Willie Mae.”

I would write food reviews under a fictitious name, but it suddenly became satirical entertainment! People were talking about the 80-year-old foodie. My mother joined in on the fun, which made for a beautiful memory always to hold dear.

The more confident I grew as a writer, a person, and a woman of faith, my true identity was known to me —Daughter of the King. I put on my robe, Kingdom-bound, never looking back. All it took was a spark of hope.

John Wilson lit the match. I wonder how many match-lighters are as humble and giving as he.