It is his portion in life.
Hunched over the keyboard, typing furiously in a burst of inspiration as though he needed to get every word out there and then or he would burst. It seemed to go on for a long time, though his speed of typing meant it was only a few minutes. Once it was done, he leaned back letting out a massive sigh – of relief, of exhilation a signal that he had done what he could with what was in his head.
He stayed in the position for a few moments, then slowly returned to the screen that stared back at him with the black type of the white screen indicating that he had indeed written finally and had paragraphs to review. So he took his time and carefully read every paragraph to himself. Sometimes he mumbled what he read, other times he read out loud what he was taking on.
He would stop and check back on what he had written. Did he mean that? Was that the feeling he wanted to convey? Was that the right word to use, right there? He higlighted it in the yellow knowing he would come back to it. He did that a few times as he went through the piece. It took him so long and he felt his eyes beginning to strain. That was a clear hint. He saved the document and put the laptop lid down.
In the evening he returned to the laptop, but before opening the lid to restart the system, he lightly tapped the lid and said that prayer he often said when returning to work.
Dear Lord, please give me the wisdom to read through what I’ve written to know what I should write. Please. Thank you.
He never treated the prayer as if it was a magic spell that would make everything alright. He knew the many times he had prayed that prayer and looked at the text completely bamboozled. Yet the whole point of the prayer was to keep him aware that his task was not on his own and not for himself.
With that he lifted the lid of his laptop and waited for the screen to light up again showing him the text. For the next two hours he painstakingly went over those words again. Those words that made those sentences, that made those paragraphs, that made that final piece of work. He made sure not to spend all that time at the screen, he’d walk away for a few moments here and there, but to all intents and purposes as the screen remained on, so he knew he was in that mode and he knew that this would be the mode he would be in until this was finished.
And when it was finished, he breathed a word of thanks to God. Saved the document. Sent it to the publisher knwing that this was another piece of work finished.
He knew full well that even as this one was finished, there was another one lingering in his mind. He would not have peace until this one was written and crafted as well.
It is his portion in life.
(Photo by Patrick Tomasso on Unsplash)
For His Name’s Sake
Shalom
C. L. J. Dryden
Life With CD 