The Dry Times
I used to write - stories of love, acceptance, vision. Now, I pick up a pen, and nothing comes. How do I get to writing again?
We had an older man at church today, God told him to come and rededicate his life to Him. He was so full of joy, tears and laughter. I miss that. I've lost - or at least misplaced - my joy. The thrill of knowing I belong to God. I've given Him my life, my days, my weeks. But the minutes are all full of sadness. Where do I go from here? How do I keep smiling, pretending that I am joyful in the Lord, a shepherd who can't even protect herself, much less the sheep?
The Word says to work out our faith with fear and trembling - oh, what I wouldn't give to feel that fear and trembling again. It has all turned into desperation and loneliness. I want to fear the Lord - He is worthy of my fear, my awe-struck, heart-pounding reverence that used to fill my days and direct my hands. Where are the dreams that once flowed from my pen - or I guess from my keyboard - onto paper that uplifted everyone? People want me to keep writing, but the words are gone.
I feel Christ grieving with me, as if something has died. But He is Christ - can't He resurrect my spirit, my mind, me? Why would He grieve when with a word He could heal? What purpose does this serve? It must serve some purpose. My Father does not want His children unhappy. What is blocking this resurrection power from flowing from me the way it used to? How can I get it back. Nothing I write makes any sense.
All I want is to be with Jesus. To feel His presence, to know how to please Him. The mansions, the streets of gold, the crystal sea - none of it means anything without Jesus. Jesus is everything. Have my stories displeased You, Lord? Have I gone too far, comparing our relationship to that of Husband and wife? Or perhaps I haven't gone far enough.
Maybe I'm on the pottery wheel, being shaped, bent, molded. Pushed almost beyond my limit, but slowly being formed in the shape of His hand. Maybe I'm a tool in the fire, being molded into a sharp instrument that He can use. But the bang, bang of the hammer, while shaping me, is also the essence of pain. I resist folding - it's not my natural shape. But He has asked me to leave the natural behind. The fire burns, Lord. Let me be.
But He loves me too much to leave me alone. The fire burns only impurities. The true metal remains, purified, strengthened. How long until You plunge me into the the cool water, Lord? How long til I am ready for You to use?
Or maybe it's all a load of manure. Maybe there is nothing but this life. But what a dismal thought! No God, no Jesus, no heaven. No grace. No mercy.
Lord, how could such a thought even be in my head, with all You've shown me, all You've given me? I come back to the faith that saved me. I come back to the One who loves me more than He loved His own life. Don't you trust Me, I hear You ask.
Of course I do. I just forgot. Forgive me, Lord. Pain, and thorns, trials and tests, day to day living, it all interferes with my ability to see You, Jesus. I use pain killers (be they pills or social media or shopping) to hide the wound, when what I need is to heal it. I need You, Great Physician. I don't even know where the wound is. But You do. Heal me, Lord. Give me back the voice I had when I first came to You.
It all comes back around to You, Lord. Do I love You through the pain? The hurt? The not understanding? Do I praise You only when You give, and never when You take? I praise You, Lord, not through the tears, but with them. Each drop is a desire to please You without the world in the way. In tears, I can say silently what my spoke or written word will never say.
I love You, Lord. And though I forget sometimes, I know You love me.
I think I have my voice back.
We had an older man at church today, God told him to come and rededicate his life to Him. He was so full of joy, tears and laughter. I miss that. I've lost - or at least misplaced - my joy. The thrill of knowing I belong to God. I've given Him my life, my days, my weeks. But the minutes are all full of sadness. Where do I go from here? How do I keep smiling, pretending that I am joyful in the Lord, a shepherd who can't even protect herself, much less the sheep?
The Word says to work out our faith with fear and trembling - oh, what I wouldn't give to feel that fear and trembling again. It has all turned into desperation and loneliness. I want to fear the Lord - He is worthy of my fear, my awe-struck, heart-pounding reverence that used to fill my days and direct my hands. Where are the dreams that once flowed from my pen - or I guess from my keyboard - onto paper that uplifted everyone? People want me to keep writing, but the words are gone.
I feel Christ grieving with me, as if something has died. But He is Christ - can't He resurrect my spirit, my mind, me? Why would He grieve when with a word He could heal? What purpose does this serve? It must serve some purpose. My Father does not want His children unhappy. What is blocking this resurrection power from flowing from me the way it used to? How can I get it back. Nothing I write makes any sense.
All I want is to be with Jesus. To feel His presence, to know how to please Him. The mansions, the streets of gold, the crystal sea - none of it means anything without Jesus. Jesus is everything. Have my stories displeased You, Lord? Have I gone too far, comparing our relationship to that of Husband and wife? Or perhaps I haven't gone far enough.
Maybe I'm on the pottery wheel, being shaped, bent, molded. Pushed almost beyond my limit, but slowly being formed in the shape of His hand. Maybe I'm a tool in the fire, being molded into a sharp instrument that He can use. But the bang, bang of the hammer, while shaping me, is also the essence of pain. I resist folding - it's not my natural shape. But He has asked me to leave the natural behind. The fire burns, Lord. Let me be.
But He loves me too much to leave me alone. The fire burns only impurities. The true metal remains, purified, strengthened. How long until You plunge me into the the cool water, Lord? How long til I am ready for You to use?
Or maybe it's all a load of manure. Maybe there is nothing but this life. But what a dismal thought! No God, no Jesus, no heaven. No grace. No mercy.
Lord, how could such a thought even be in my head, with all You've shown me, all You've given me? I come back to the faith that saved me. I come back to the One who loves me more than He loved His own life. Don't you trust Me, I hear You ask.
Of course I do. I just forgot. Forgive me, Lord. Pain, and thorns, trials and tests, day to day living, it all interferes with my ability to see You, Jesus. I use pain killers (be they pills or social media or shopping) to hide the wound, when what I need is to heal it. I need You, Great Physician. I don't even know where the wound is. But You do. Heal me, Lord. Give me back the voice I had when I first came to You.
It all comes back around to You, Lord. Do I love You through the pain? The hurt? The not understanding? Do I praise You only when You give, and never when You take? I praise You, Lord, not through the tears, but with them. Each drop is a desire to please You without the world in the way. In tears, I can say silently what my spoke or written word will never say.
I love You, Lord. And though I forget sometimes, I know You love me.
I think I have my voice back.