He looked quickly at the table and mentally checked off the various items spread over its surface; writing instruments, paper, and other items that he thought he'd need. It looked like he had everything. Taking a deep breath, he moved to the chair placed in front of the pile and sighed in nervous anticipation as he sat down……..
Fifteen minutes later, his eyes still scoured the tabletop, looking for inspiration…….the paper laid in front of him without a single word written upon its tauntingly white surface. A pile of crumpled white paper sat in the corner of the small office, at varying degrees to the wastebasket that was the obvious target of the thrower.
'A hook,' he thought, 'Something that I'll use as a talisman, like only writing with a black no 2 pencil! Every great writer has a hook!' Yet, of all the various items on the table, he felt nothing calling to him, nothing that seemed to inspire him to write. 'Maybe they were wrong,' he silently argued with himself, 'I can write nice prayers and comments but when it comes to the big things, I am not good enough.' He stood up, shoving the chair so hard that it tipped over with a loud smack.
"Jim…..," a voice called out, "Son, are you having a problem?" Jim's head hung down as it nodded in agreement with the comment. "Yes, Father. It seems like I'm not what everyone thinks I am; a writer."
A gentle, almost teasing laughter echoed in the room, "Oh, child, why do you think that? Didn't I tell you that I would help you?"
"Yes, Father, you did." Jim's frustrated voice seemed to fill the air, "But nothing's coming. I cannot write as the others have, there's just nothing I have to offer like they do."
"Sit!" the Father's authorative voice boomed in quiet force and Jim quickly picked up the chair and sat in it, facing the table. "Who do you think gave them the words? Themselves? Are they more important than I?"
"No, Father, but….." Jim's timid voice barely squeaked out before the Father continued….
"BUT nothing," Father said, "Each of the others had been chosen by me to write, giving a piece of themselves into the documents, to make them unique to each one."
"Yes, Father, I understand." Jim said quickly, "I am honored that you would consider me to write more about what you have spoken of, but…….I have nothing to give."
"Oh, but you do, son. You do." Father said, wrapping his loving and warm arms around Jim and pulling him closer. "Just listen to your heart, because there is where I put your inspiration."
"Before you were born, I set this task for you." Father's voice seemed to fade a little with each word. "I have chosen you to speak my words to the people." And with that, the Father was gone.
Jim glanced down at the paper in front of him……… "Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds………" He smiled and gave quick thanks to the Creator for the ability to write the words He would say……
It wasn't so hard after all.
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