The call.

You.

You are more than your day job.
More than piles of laundry or coffee mugs in the sink.
You scribble words on napkins.
You see sunsets in phrases.
Your worth goes deeper than lack of publication.

You are not a runner.
You are a seeker.
You were designed to look for gold in passing glances.
You were purchased by blood.
You are being drawn to the Savior with chords of loving kindness.
You have a story worth sharing.
You have a Hope worth handing out.

It is not glamorous.
You fight time.
You argue with self doubt.
You avoid the critic.
You wrestle with jealousy.
This makes you weary.
But you are not a quitter.
Because
Greater is He that is in you than he that is in the world.

He is your battle fighter.
He is the lifter of your head.
Your Africa lies in notebooks.
Your mission field resides on the other side of the blinking cursor.
He beckons early each morning to "take up your cross."

So pick up your pen...
and write.

Evening guests.

I told them, "Come on out little, spring stars. Now is not the season to be shy." So they did. And we drank up the sun until we were drunk. And it was a lovely time.

No things wasted.

Last spring while en route to work, I glimpsed something magnificent in the morning sun. A giant magnolia tree with its pale, delicate petals seemingly had blossomed overnight. The sudden burst of ivory and pink after a bleak, grey winter was a comforting gift from the Lord.

You see, it had been a trying several months before that. Long days of frustrations and self-doubt. There were times when I wondered if the promise, “He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion”, [Phil.1:6 NIV] was actually one I could call my own.

But in that one moment, as I looked up at that tree, it was as if the Lord whispered, “You see? While you were waiting, I was working.”

That evening I wrote the following words with the windows open and one magnolia blossom in a vase on my desk. The words continue to remind me that if the Lord is able to bring about a flower through seasons of ice and snow, then surely He has further wonders planned for a restless heart in the midst of a similar season.





Sweet magnolia. You are more than a sudden overnight blessing of richness and beauty. Your petals are but the closing notes of your soulful concerto. The beginning of your melody was a rhythm of unheard struggles beneath snow-covered boughs.

Months on end you remained still, a chest tight with promise. Shades of velvet and ivory were hidden deep within your bones.

But dark nights and icy winds did not deter you from what you knew to be true in every season. That the Painter, the Creator, the Sustainer…
Is the One who brings life when there appears to be only death.
This very dawn is one that you knew would come. He called you out and you came forth shining. Dew covered and radiant.

Oh Lord, let this Magnolia-art be found within this dormant soul. Remind me daily of Who it is that You are and what it is that You do. What I perceive as lack of movement does not mean lack of life. And lack of sun does not mean lack of hope.

We wait and you work.

So that when you call us out, we will come forth shining -- reflections of our Maker.