These are the words that came into my head and heart by the Holy Spirit this morning, as I woke up after drifting back to sleep, and having a dream. I think I pray for people even in my sleep. Sometimes, I am desperate for sleep.
He knows I had been awake late writing feverishly in hopes of getting a novel finished and a chance to have it read. Novels have eluded me. I have started so many without finishing a single one, not that they are not good ideas, or that I’m not descriptive enough, they are just invariably too short, and often look like they’d be a better screenplay.
Artists know desperation, starving artists, talented people who paint portraits on the city squares, hoping to get a gallery showing, the dancers who audition regularly, the writer’s over the desk, typing away, those who stare at a blank screen. I am blessed to never have had writer’s block.
I suppose it’s the same with the musician, like my piano practices. the singers. Even the sculptors, we are all cast from the same mold, cut from the same cloth, the fabric of our lives is similar though our endeavors differ, although some of us are capable of crossing fields of expertise. The patterns of our lives are woven together by a single thread sewn by God.
No wonder we are inspired, look who created us. He spoke the world into existence and created something from nothing, breathed life into the lifeless. That’s what we need as desperate people, a breath of heaven, a kiss of peace to say to our hearts and souls, ” It’s alright, I’m here, I see you, I hear you, and I love you. ” We don’t need to be desperate, just inspired and not tired. My novel is on hold as my blog flourishes and blossoms over the internet.
What does that say about a bleary eyed writer? That His words are Spirit and life and mine are from Him anyway, I’ll still get to my work, as I put His first. Like the girl in the photograph, I am sometimes leaning over my desk as the petals of inspiration sprinkle over me, drifting into thought, dreams, sleep, peaceful sleep, heavenly sleep. I dream of sleep. I ache to sleep. I am the beloved who needs to sleep.
I even have a picture of me as an eleven year old at my desk, my eyes are tired as I sit over a blue 60’s typewriter. My hand is over my head. Funny, I am sitting at the same desk, it has been passed around, I had my computer on one, when I was cleaning and moving cords, it buckled and broke, I still had my old one, child like faith still at work, He knows I both love Him and believe, I can do nothing without Him, even sleep or breathe.
So let’s all work from inspiration and not desperation, because He is an artist and creator, and He never slumbers or sleeps but watches over His words and mine, I am constantly inspired. I’m dropping desperate. And I am going to rest, leaning on Him. Rebecca Jones