Leave me be and let me work!
Ain’t had no dream to work on till lately, and it hurt somethin’ awful.
Sermon, seminar, and speaker have encouraged me to live for my dreams, set those goals, and run for the finish line. I even collected a couple of notebooks full of “how tos.” But when ya ain’t got no dream, when your daily goal is to make it home to watch “Wheel of Fortune,” and your finish line is bedtime, note pages full of instructions are just alota wasted tree bark.
But I got lit up recently. A nightlight suddenly came on and now I’m workin’ for something. Doggone it! I have my first dream, and if I can figure out where they put the finish line I might even start setting some goals!
My work might save the world. It might cure cancer. It might help stop global warming and open the door to the next millennium of progress. It has possibilities and probabilities, if the world can handle it. It is my dream, and I’m working on it every day. I am putting it together letter to word, verb to adjective, clause to phrase, capital to final period. Oh, mamma! I am a single chicken-scratched letter closer every day.
Won’t be long till I’m there, till all my critics are forced to take a step back and wonder why they doubted me. The world will change the day they acknowledge I’ve written
“The Perfect Sentence.”
The perfect sentence has nothing to do with grammar. You can analyze and diagram it, dissect its jots and tittles, and beat it to death with a red pen, but then you’d miss its purpose. My perfect sentence will turn heads, touch hearts, and change the direction of somebody who will change the way the world spins. My sentence, perfect in its logic and structure, will communicate truth and make it live!
So now I’ve told you, and you’re going to be watching me, asking me, checking on me to see how my sentence is coming. But I ain’t telling’ you nothin’ until the work is done, ‘till it’s full and ready to shock you. Completion could take days or years, or I might spring it on you tomorrow, if I’m sure it’s done.
Then again you might find my perfect sentence among my things after I‘m gone. It may be scrawled on old napkin crumpled under a cigar box full of meaningless junk. It also may be hidden my Bible, folded neatly and pressed firmly between pages containing my favorite verses. If you find it you will have the pleasure and responsibility of delivering it to the world for me.
When I didn’t have a dream it hurt something’ awful. Now I have a different kind of hurt. I expect this one may be worse than the last one.
Now, go away and let me get back to work.
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