Never Too Late

“Then the Lord answered me and said, ‘Write the vision and make it plain on tablets.’”

~ Habakkuk 2:2

I love a blank page: A new journal never written in; a new binder with crisp, white pages begging to be filled. For most of us, January feels like the time to begin something new. For me, it’s always the same; I long to fill the pages of my notebook from the pages of real life. It’s all well and good at this point; fun and games and pie in the sky dreams. Then reality hits.

I’m the one who’s supposed to offer up the ink, to form the words, to weave the story that fills these pages with tales, and lessons learned from daily life. But without fail fear begins its nagging whispers, and panic hangs heavy, until it enshrouds me and I succumb to literary paralysis.

I have fallen prey to this tactic of the enemy for many years. It became a stronghold long ago, and this isn’t the first resolve I’ve made to change my trajectory. I do, however, hope it’s my final resolve. Somehow, this year, this season of my life, seems more urgent and the call to obedience is absolutely non-negotiable. Is it because my age literally stares me in the face on a daily basis? If we’re given three-score and ten years of life on this earth, or four-score if we’re lucky, then I’m on my last “score”, and I’m acutely reminded that the dead cannot proclaim the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.

The issue, aside from age, is disobedience. I’ve known since I was 12 years old I was to be a writer and share the love of God through my creativity with words. We don’t get to be “creative” with the Word of God, but if words are our area of art and giftedness, then we are to use this gift “as unto the Lord.” I am guilty of allowing fear to limit my efforts, and without that effort there are no results. Seeds of life planted, watered and nurtured by reflection and study are for the purpose of teaching others, lifting up our fellow man and communicating Jesus’ Gospel of love to the ends of the earth. But if we leave the ripened fruit (our gifts) unharvested, withering on the vine or rotting on the ground, never shared with the world or those in need, then what good is that? I don’t want to go to my grave, taking with me all I’ve learned, to be buried with me there. I want to share it now, today, in this life in the hopes that God will take my tiny offering and multiply it as only He can. Just as He did when He blessed the little boy’s lunch of fish and bread, or like He did with the widow’s two mites. They gave all they had, unreservedly. After three-score on this earth, I am ready to release my fears to the only One who can calm them, and get in line with the boy and his brown-bag lunch, and the poor widow with only two cents to her name, and trust Jesus to multiply my words for the sake of others who are hurting like me.

I am curious about what I will write in this coming year, and wonder about where it will lead and what works it might accomplish. And while those musings are all well and good, it will continue to be for nothing if I don’t relinquish my fear daily, push up my sleeves and dig around in the dirt (water, prune and feed), so that in time a healthy harvest can nourish those in need, rather than going to waste in the fields of my own mind where no one benefits. It is my prayer that you will join me on this venture, walking with me on a road I’ve never really braved before, as we focus on the joy of togetherness for the journey, more than simply a final destination.

“I will take my stand at my watchpost and station myself on the tower, and look out to see what He will say to me, and what I will answer concerning my complaint. And the LORD answered me: ‘Write the vision; make it plain on tablets, so he may run who reads it.’ For still the vision awaits its appointed time; it hastens to the end—it will not lie. If it seems slow, wait for it; it will surely come; it will not delay.’”

~ Habakkuk 2:1-3