This morning, as I rise before the sun comes up behind the clouds and rain, I think about the day ahead. I think about writing deadlines and speeches to give and when to move four foot tall feet on stage. I think about the moment of overwhelm my nine year old shared with me last night on our way to play practice when big shiny tear drops slipped down flushed cheeks as he lamented that he could never “finish it all.” And I wonder how will I…how will I finish it all today? What is the most important thing here in this space that God has created for me to do what He created me to do? And I am reminded here in the stillness of a prayer that my new cyber-friend, Duane Scott, shared…a prayer that I echo today….
I sit, staring silently at the cursor on my screen. I hear the gentle ticking of the mantle clock and in my mind’s eye, I see the pendulum swaying… Back and forth, time marching forward.
Time is a precious gift, I think. I don’t have any of it to spare staring at a blinking cursor.
Closing my eyes, I pause a moment, bowing my head over trembling fingers resting on the keyboard in front of me. I offer a short prayer and begin to write.
I’m new at this.
The praying part, not the writing.
No, I’ve been writing for almost two years now, fighting demons of self-doubt, slaying spirits of unwillingness, and finding the submission to open my heart to you, my readers. The vulnerability still scares me.
Bowing my head to the Author, the Author who penned the words to my life, terrifies me even more; because I may be asked to write something outside my comfort zone.
I start once, quickly utilizing the backspace button. The blank screen before me, I start again, writing a paragraph or two, then opening a new document, failing to save the last.
And as I write, I pray…
Today, the words I use, let them be Your words.
Words of Hope, of Love, of Faith.
Allow me, with trembling hands, to be Your voice.
A voice not full of fear, but of reassurance in You.
Let me never forget, the words I write today,
May change the life of one, maybe two.
But as the Psalmist says, I bring You my sheaves,
They may not be many, but they are Yours.
Today, I won’t mind if no-one comments,
Because the words I write are Your words to me,
And the testament of my heart is full,
Because You were here… with me… and my few readers…
In this quiet place.
Let this site be one of stillness,
A harbor, a safe-house for Your children.
A place to find rest when the world is restless
A place not of answers, but where to find answers.
A place where each breath is breathed in praise to You.
Show me, Dear Author, Your will.
I humbly pen this prayer,
Not because I can’t speak,
But because You gave to me,
this small talent of writing,
and it is through this talent,
You have given my heart a voice.
Let my heart always be keen to
the sweet whisperings of Yours…
And may each chapter of my life,
Be written by You, not me.