Have you ever sat down to write something and couldn’t figure out what to say? I have a theory about that. I believe it’s your subconscious desire to speak to God. Even if you don’t believe He exists. Because, even if you don’t believe, He still created you. And He wants to have a relationship with you. And I believe the knowledge of this is written on the tablet of your heart.
So, it’s likely your subconscious desire started before you were even born.
Of course, this is just a theory of mine. And I know there’s a lot of people who enjoy mocking theorists. Especially when they fall into the Christian category.
I know my readers and listeners don’t fall into that camp. But if you’re reading or listening to this by chance or accident, and you think I’m just another one of those Christian simpletons, fine. Skip on over to the rest of your do dah day.
But I believe you’d be missing out on the best your life has to offer. And I wouldn’t be surprised if you discovered a subconscious desire to tune back in and see what else I might have to say. Sure, you’d probably shrug it off and take another drag off your favorite mind-bending “medicine.” But here’s an alternative idea.
Why not, instead, write a note to God today. Say or ask Him whatever is on your mind. Not in anger or with self-righteous attitude. Just simple curiosity. Ask Him to speak to you. I believe He will. But not if you’d rather listen to the little voices you deal with daily. Nope. You gotta tell them to shut up, be still, and listen for a calm, small voice.
Reminds me of something I wrote years ago. It sort of relates. But it’s just a primer for you. Come up with your own.
Justice
(a note to God)
I put the pen to paper to pay homage to
One I can’t possibly do justice to
I want to say words I don’t know…
Somehow express the inexpressible…
Let emotions carry the ink into the patterns
That form the words that say what I feel.
I think to myself, “This will be the time.
This time I’ll release the hidden thoughts
To convey to You what I feel deep inside.”
But each time I begin a valve shuts off…
A nerve is blocked, or the atmosphere increases
To weigh down the process.
All the good intentions don’t translate or migrate to paper.
One fragile word does not inspire the next,
But I will continue to try…
To try to do You justice with mere words.
Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll overcome this void
And write You a masterpiece…
Who knows?
© 1986 (August 1)
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