My friends and family know I love to take writing classes in Iowa City. A few weeks ago, I took my nineteenth course. I specifically looked for an easy class, because I didn’t want to churn out several pages a day or give written feedback each night to my fellow eleven students. So I signed up for a course with Mary Allen titled Spiritual Writing: Listening to Our Lives, that promised minimal extra work.

Mary defines spiritual writing as that which comes from your inner self. To get there, she assigns many prompts and fast writing to respond to them. Her notion of fast writing is to time yourself for about ten or fifteen minutes and write like fury and stopping when the time is up.

I should have known I could get into trouble.

My friend Marianna Crane introduced me to this kind of writing the first time I’d gone to visit her after my retirement. I’d proclaimed my new interest in writing creative nonfiction. We sat outside at a Starbucks, dropped a pencil point onto a newspaper, took that word, and wrote in response to it on whatever came to mind for five minutes. At the end of that short time, I was crying.

Thus the power of fast writing. That was over 20 years ago; I should have been wary when I discovered that getting real deep was the focus of this spiritual writing class.

But I wrote and wrote, as did my classmates. Day by day, we got deeper into ourselves and shared our moving stories with each other. For the last day, Mary told us there was an optional assignment–take it or leave it. Being the curious student that I am, I sat in my hotel room that night and did a fast write for the optional assignment: “Write a letter to God…or however you think of any spiritual presence in your life….” about the challenges you faced this week (or on anything). And have God write back. This is what showed up on my computer:

Dear God,

You’ve heard me this week wrestling with what do I do next. After five years, my book about our experience with Marv’s cancer is finished. I feel as though I’m at a crossroads. Maybe, do I move from my perfectly perfect home, because after six years of being a widow, I’m tired of living alone and would like to replicate my Chicago condo life where I could bump into some people without leaving home? Or, as I’ve found out this week during the fast writing, that my focus on wanting to move isn’t my real challenge right now. That by writing deeper into my discontent, I’m finding my real concern is what do I really want to do right now? Loosely quoting Mary Oliver, what do I want to do with the precious few years I have left? What will satisfy my inner self? I’ve gotten as far as writing myself deep enough to find my immediate challenges—like being angry about my health concerns due to aging, being angry at all the literature, usually written by younger people, that tells me I have a choice about how I approach my aging, that it’s all about my attitude. Be happy and all those inevitable declines will miraculously float away. I’ve already found that attitude alone won’t cut it. However, I have found out this week, that writing about aging moments, those little snippets or anecdotes of my day, like Anne Lamott is now doing in the Washington Post, is probably—it’s hard to commit in one short week—what I’d like to continue to do going forward. That it’s not about moving at all, it’s about how I want to spend my time, and only secondarily about where I want to live. Please write me back. Am I getting somewhere in my thinking? Thank you.

Sincerely, Lois Roelofs

Dear Lois,

I’ve watched you these six years as you’ve reinvented your life from fifty-five years as a spouse to being a widow. You’ve done a remarkable job, but I can see your need to question your future. You’ve always been a restless person, in a good way, you’ve never really been totally content, so I suggest you are on the right track for you. Keep writing, keep searching, and you will, perhaps suddenly, know and feel what’s right for you to do at this time. Meanwhile, go ahead and tour those apartments for folks over 62 on Monday as you ‘d planned, but don’t make a hasty judgement. Other apartments will open there in time, so there’s no rush. Remember, to thine own self be true. BTW, I’ll tell Marv I’ve heard from you. I know he’ll say he always told you that you’d do fine after he was gone. And he’ll say, “Yes, she’s thinking and thinking about what’s next, and that’s always been her nature, so I know she’s doing fine just as I told her she would.” Lois, Check in again. Know that I’ll be watching over you.

Love, God

Now, the dangerous, but exciting update: I toured that apartment with my daughter when I got home. There were a few dozen others on the waiting list that had hierarchy over me, so I dreamed about it a bit, weighing pros and cons. Like I said in my letter, I have a perfectly perfect home, super neighbors, and lots of beautiful green grass and trees. There is absolutely no need to move unless you’ve once owned a condo in a high rise and loved that type of living.

The big reveal! No, I’m not pregnant! Nor am I getting married again.But I was notified last week the apartment I’d looked at with my daughter was mine. People ahead of me on the waiting list had passed on it for a variety of reasons. I suddenly knew and felt I wanted to take it. I have to jump through some hoops yet before I sign the final papers, but it’s a miracle, because I’d been told last year when, on a whim, I’d put my name on the waiting list, that it would probably be several years before my name would come up.

Now, I don’t know if I should go back to Iowa again! I certainly did not anticipate this outcome from a writing class. And I won’t be moving right away. As I told the manager last week, I need some time to get used to the idea. I’d been thinking I may move when I’m about 85, but now it will be at 82. If, after this move, I’d ever move again, the next step would be a retirement home.

I hope God is telling Marv my latest news. He passed away six years to the day when I was notified the apartment was mine if I wanted it. If you’ve read my book, I think this surprising change in my life, on the sixth anniversary of Marv’s passing, will turn out to be another moment of grace. And I’m grateful to Mary Allen for pushing us to go deeper and deeper in our writing. What I’d hoped would be a fun easy class, has turned out to be life-changing. A change I look forward to!