The devil hates goose quills, and doubtless, he has good reason,
for ready writers by the Holy Spirit's blessing
have done his kingdom much damage.
Charles Spurgeon
Most writing hours find me scribbling alone. Soft voices and bird calls carry over Crabapple House, but they fade against the call of the story. This year, more than any other, I've devoted slabs of time to crafting the series I've set on my majestic Phillip Island.
(Yes, I like to think it's mine. And yes, I realise I share it with thousands who call it home, for real.)
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| Lilacs ~ Crabapple House |
And what's so different about 2013? How have I come to carve more writing time than other years?
Last summer I relinquished all my writing to God.
When I say relinquished, I packed it up in my mind in a pretty Victorian-era portmanteau, stuffed it with every chattel, ink bottle and paper blotter I owned, and slapped that lid down harder than a grumpy station master dealing with errant luggage.
And I slid it over to God the Father in complete surrender. I poked that bundle with my toe and told God it was His to begin with, and no moths, rust or thief could touch it while He kept it.
I said a lot more, but some things are best left on high shelves between the covers of mangled journals.
I don't know if God smiled. Or if He shook His head in gentle encouragement. But He who knew I'd suffer a violent loss of direction, had His lavish reply at the ready.
This autumn, He returned my stories to me, kept safe and never out of His reach. He placed the quill in my hand, wrapped His palm over it, and sent me on my way... fresh for what was always mine. The pull of story. The rhythm of words. The love of time lost to the sway of a goose feather.
I needed to pass through a valley to reach where I am today as a storyteller. To discover only God has the power to keep me at the ready as a writer.
By the power of His Spirit, I do what I do.
I write and pray and relinquish every day. I add words to a string of more, knowing if they are to press into the heart of one other person, it will be God's doing.
Because I have learned the lesson of the goose quill.
It's not my fist which holds the pen. It's God's grip on my heart which gives it wing. Flight. Song.
How about you?
What have you relinquished completely?
What happened next...?
Blessings for a wonderful weekend,
