Itís driving me absolute batty. I cannot seem to grasp it. Itís on the tip of my tongue, the edge of my mind, the precipice of my heart, but I cannot seem to get hold of it.
A story needs to be told. A poem cries to be written. A truth needs to be shouted on the housetop. A vignette waits to be described.
I wait for it to come. I know itís there. If I try too hard, it flees from me. Itís burning down deep within. I get quiet in a crowd, trying to be invisible . I want to withdraw suddenly and think. I need to think. To process. I need to get in touch with this yearning that doesnít go away.
It wakes me up at night. It interrupts me, even when eating chocolate. The yearning can be rude sometimes. The yearning takes on a life of its own. Because I know itís there. A calling to the page. A calling to my laptop. I cannot die just yet God, if that was Your plan for me today. If my number comes up today, it has to pass me by. This yearning needs to be found, then written, then read by someone who needs to hear it.
Thatís it. It cannot just sleep within me. It must awaken and come forth. There is someone, maybe millions , maybe just one, whose moment may be changed if I can get this to them. I need to get this to them. Time may be running out.
If I write it, if I can say it, if I can get it out just right, perhaps today they will choose to live. Maybe my one connection with them on paper, the written word is all they need to decide today at this moment that perhaps they are not alone. That there is a God. That God used my yearning to speak to their hearts. That they can and will and should have hope.
But itís still percolating. I must withdraw. I need to hear how it should start. I need to get into the flow of it. I need to feel my mind just relaxing, enjoying the moment of splendor when just the right words start to come and I start to manage to actually say what I needed to say.
If my husband walks in, or the phone starts to ring, or my dogs start to bark, I feel bothered. They donít get it. I must do this. Itís not an obsession. Itís not that Iím crazy. Well, perhaps that, but that is not why I need the alone time.
Right before it comes clear to me what to say and how to say it, I MUST be still. I must wait. I must hear. I must be obedient. I must know that the calling from within is from Him and not my own self absorbed voice. It has to have a reason for talking. A plan of action. It must have a purpose. It must not waste time.
And then something other worldly starts to happen. A flow, the flow of the river within me, starts to catch up to my finger and my brain starts to stamp out the message that needs to be heard. No, I do not claim each time I write that God is speaking through me like He did through His word. That was miraculous the way He used those men. Mere men. To write HIS WORD without tarnish.
I write, but it is tarnished as it passes through my soul that is still in the process of sanctification. The yearning is there, but it comes out not as pure as it goes in. The unconfused sins in my heart, the unforgiving moments I still am clinging to for closure, the desire to become famous or recognized, all tarnishing this message, but it still must come out.
The itsy bitsy teeny light that it may bring is enough for God to use to reach another who needs to feel connected right now, and I reach out my hand and hold it as they read my words that struggle to get free from within. And for a moment we are One body, One church, and here with One Purpose.
And its then and only then that a peaceful calm floods my soul, and I bask in the joy of it all.
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