Tuesday, September 9, 2003
Two weeks in a row, I’ve gone to Tuesday’s Children. It’s such a blessing to know these friends. Although I still haven’t written something to take for editing, it is an encouragement to hear other women talk about writing, sharing their struggles to write and offering their drafts for critiquing. It offers me hope.
Even now, at home, as I hope to write significant pieces, I walk away from the kitchen stove, a small voice following me. Jane, you needn’t response to each life event with an essay. Relax. Judy came to the meeting today with her idea for an article. Slow and deliberate. It struck a chord. I am wound up, a dog just released from her chain, barking and running everywhere, yet never arriving, and never saying anything worth the bark.
Jesus is the Master of moving with deliberation. Only three years to save the world, yet he had so much time. Time to pray. Time to speak at the well. Sitting on the Mount, he never hurried his sermon to the needy. Time to eat and collect the scraps. And time to retreat, to walk on water, to calm the storm, go to the other side of the lake, and land again alone with time to pray. Even as the people pressed in upon Him, lowered the sick for him to heal, and prompted His rage for their violation of God’s house of prayer…even during all that Jesus accomplished during His short ministry, never do I sense urgency, a quickened pace to get there fast, an impatient tone because He is interrupted on his way by the hand of a woman on the hem of his robe.
Slowly and deliberately, Christ set about to change the world, one person at a time, He shared the gift of life. Never did he despair that his message would die with him on the cross. Peter, do you love me? Feed my sheep. Calming the distress of the disciples, he assured them greater things still will you do.
Greater than Christ? And yet, as holy links in God’s chain, each apostle fulfilled his duty, slowly and deliberately, witnessing to the miracle of salvation they were privileged to share. Walking across the continent, lingering years in Ephesus, Corinth, Rome and beyond, they laid the foundation of faith for the disciples after them. One faithful witness at a time, down through the centuries, whether in a full life or one shortened by martyrdom, each person doing his part, a steady procession of witness moving forward and sharing the gospel, with deliberation, knowing that the inexhaustible supply of time belongs to God.
We aren’t called to be fast. We are called to be faithful.
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THE WRITER’S LIFE
TABLE OF CONTENTS
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