If, as a writer, I am unable to imagine, conjure up, visualize, or have a revelation about anything to write, the pros say, "Write anyway." I have ignored that advice for too long now.
These past weeks I have heard great sermons, attended stimulating Bible studies, and participated in powerful prayer meetings. With all the spiritual energy that has surrounded me, a comic-strip light bulb occasionally appeared. Holy Spirit "aha" moments did grab my attention; however, nothing stood out as far as this blog goes.
I have attended exciting track meets, enjoyed sunny days, rain, and my silly cat. I did write one post as a result of my granddaughter's false start at a track meet, but that was it. I have written nothing because I didn't have any idea about what to write.
So, what's this gal to do? Sit here in my chair, free write, and see what comes off the end of my fingers.
I have a To-do list with a zillion tasks to complete before noon tomorrow when I leave for ten days. I wonder how in the world I will do them all when I am helping at the school for a few hours after lunch. I guess I will do them the way I always do things. I will prioritize, then do them one at a time in any order I decide. In the meantime, I sit here writing, which makes no sense because I should be taking care of my important jobs.
So, why am I writing? First off, I am writing because I feel guilty about not writing all week. More importantly, I am writing because of a Dream List I wrote earlier this year. On that list was, "Write and publish a book." The battle I fight in that area will never be won if I don't write when I have no idea what to say. So, I am writing.
My To-do list has several items crossed off. I have washed my clothes, stopped mail and newspaper delivery, paid some up-coming bills, and cleaned bathrooms. I also wrote a letter to my husband--not on my list.
By noon tomorrow, when my car is packed up and I leave for the school, my adventure will begin. The adventure is not only mine, but also Licorice Kitty's. I will be attending both a district and a state track meet. A train trip to see my sister and dad is sandwiched in-between. Dad will be celebrating his 94th birthday. I am looking forward to the visit.
Licorice will spending the time at a "cat spa". That should be interesting. The two of us get along just fine, but I know what she will tolerate. She loves to run, play, and attack the covers when I make the bed. She hides behind furniture and grabs my legs with her paws when I walk by. She comes to me when she wants to say hi, get petted, or sleep on my lap, but she doesn't like to be picked up or put in any situation where she feels trapped. AND, she still hunts.
Several days ago a freshly killed shrew greeted me from the welcome mat. Most cats don't eat shrews; Licorice was no different. She merely left it for me to admire, and admire, and admire. After returning from town this afternoon, I discovered that the tiny, little rodent was gone. Some critter had carted it off. Hooray for some critter.
As I have finished writing all this 'stuff', one question continues haunting my mind. It is a culmination of all this week's activities, studies, daily living, and a great-niece's facebook post.
Over and over again I hear about the unfairness of life. I absolutely agree that tragic events around the world seem extremely unfair. From stories of kidnapped girls to children dying of cancer, the not-fair cry raises heavenward. Lost jobs and natural disasters cause the same not-fair cry to echo across the land. Traumatized and hurting people have done nothing to deserve what they have received. It isn't fair.
Why then don't I cry out, "It's not fair!" when I have something I don't deserve in my life? Why don't I grieve because of the unfairness of having a wonderful family and friends and a comfortable home and good health? All I have, all I have been given, is completely undeserved.
And what I did deserve I didn't receive. Christ received it in my place. That is not fair, but it is God's love and grace.
Blessed by the unfairness of grace,
Jan
No comments:
Post a Comment