Five years ago, while living in China, I got this impelling or unction–whatever–whether from me or God, I wasn’t sure. but it was notable, recurrent, wafty. like fog. but it started at my doorstep and made traveling a bit slower. I was too busy with stuff in China, as one is, and I thought, well, once we move to New Zealand, I’ll write. We did; I didn’t. too busy humoring my hyperactivity. I thought, well, once we move to Hawaii, I’ll write. We did; I did.
This journey has taken me to Jesus. I’ve courted his Spirit, felt Her/HIm blow through my lungs with each conscious breath. That’s approximately half-dozen a day out of the 23,000 I’m allowed. Writing has forced me to put skin to the notion, WWJD? So, really, what would Jesus do? or think in this situation, or feel when he’s busy being tempted, tried, seduced, discouraged, lost?
Now it’s four volumes later.
I’ve been in my prayer closet, literally, writing, revising, and narrating these four books. Two are now published and the last two will be before the year is done. I’m put in mind of Marty Goetz’s song, Let Us Run. The refrain comes back to the theme, let us finish what we’ve begun. As I’ve done my work in the clinic this week, listening to others and workign with them, this sense of contentment keeps re-visiting me. I take a conscious breath of gratitude.