I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve been putting words down in other forms…sermon outlines, meeting agendas, mission/vision statements, action plan bullet points. Lots of creativity in all that, I know, but it’s different.
With this brand of cinnamon syrup, my lips tingle, and I’m wishing for something I’m not finding. There’s rain on the pavement, even though I can’t see the street from here. Cars sound like they’re rolling across something like smooth wax paper, kicking up streams of water behind the back tires. Gray, bulbous clouds hover over the electrical wires running down toward the freeway. My house sleeps, quiet like Saturday mornings, my wife already at work, the kids snoozing the lazy snooze of Christmas break. I type out a prayer, waffling back and forth between praise and incredulity, wondering out loud where He’s keeping the magic. The magic’s there, I know, but I seem to be fresh out.
The day holds a wrestling match with righteousness, tomorrow’s sermon topic. A simple thought that came to me as I emerged from sleep three days ago has become a mantra demanding to be addressed. Speaking of Joseph, the nearly forgotten foster father of the Christ, the text says simply, “He was a righteous man.” There’s a bomb to toss into a cynical postmodern world. All things are possible with God, Gabriel tells Mary. I guess Paul was making a theological point when he growled that no one was righteous, not one. Sorry, Paul, Matthew begs to differ. Joseph was.
Ah…you know what I mean.
Words. Sentences crafted so that images come slanting out of them all decked in new thought, new insight, new ah-ha’s. Not many of them heading my way just now, but I miss them.
I’ll write again sometime…