Tuesday, August 16, 2005

The Little Man That Lives in My Daughter's Purse

Yes, there is a little man that resides in my daughter's purse. His name is Edgar Allan Poe, and he is a six-inch action figure. If you ask her why, she'll tell you, "He just does."

What amazes me is, she can always tell you where Edgar is, but she can't tell you where her house key is. The sanity of it boggles my mind.

However, I chose to search for some meaning to this teen-age madness and discovered it's a matter of priorities. For her, having Edgar in her purse is a priority. Why? Again she says, "It just is." But knowing whether or not she has her house key is not. She has chosen the more important item to keep track of. A six-inch action figure has won her allegiance.

So, where do our allegiances lie? In this present life? Money? Television? Food? I'm sure you can think of several to add to the list, but one is surely missing here.


There, I said it. I used to think giving my allegiance to Jesus was the easiest thing in the world to do. Now I'm learning it is, indeed, easy to give it. It's just hard to keep it there. That is the daily battle, though, isn't it? What Paul called "running the race."

Well, I'm a weary runner, but I have hope tonight. (Or today I should say as I look at the clock.) Tonight I bought a copy of Donald Maass' Writing the Breakout Novel Workbook and read the first chapter as I waited for hubby to finish perusing. The first question to fill out talked about your heros. Who are your heros? List one.

Yeah, you guessed it. Only one name fit on that line, literally, "in my book." And I'm so glad He's not limited to a book.

Sunday, August 14, 2005

Spiritual Wasteland

Ever been there? Well, I'll be honest. I'm residing there at the moment. And let me tell ya, it's a really dry place. I don't like wastelands. Lush greenery is my preference. Lots of running streams, fruit trees, moist earth.

A wasteland is defined as an unused area of land that has become barren or overgrown. So, how does one define that in terms of the spirit. Unused? Barren? Overgrown?

Unused. Am I not serving God as He wants? Are my gifts being used in vain? The struggle of the writer is not knowing how your work has affected others, if at all. There are not immediate results. Not that I write for that reason. I write because I know God has called me to. There is a purpose to this madness.

Barren. Nonproductive. Nothing comes to mind there. I'm writing most days. I'm even close to finishing another book. But it's like squeezing water from a rock. Now I know why Moses hit the rock. Impatience and frustration are not productive.

Overgrown. By what? Weeds? Flowers? The term implies something uncared for. Is that what's wrong with me? I've not taken care of myself spiritually. And how does one do that when the morning quiet time with God is an effort in and of itself.

I know God's there. I'm looking at myself searching for the answers because I know the problem lies within me. Still searching, still waiting, still hoping.

I know God's there. I just wish He'd speak a little louder at the moment.