The Splendid Things

I need to write.

I have deadlines.

I think of myself as a writer until I have a deadline.

And then I’m just another desperate woman praying for something she doesn’t have. It’s the whole point, and I understand that. It’s not in my own strength anyway. But it’s frustrating to feel so empty.

I do what I often do when I feel like I have nothing to say: I search for quotes from people I consider wise.

Most of them are dead.

And I come across this gem.

Life has loveliness to sell, all beautiful and splendid things, blue waves whitened on a cliff, soaring fire that sways and sings, and children’s faces looking up, holding wonder like a cup.” {Sarah Teasdale}

Tears fill my eyes and I allow them to invade my focus.

I become keenly aware that the deadline is making me miss the words.

Does it do the same for you?

We are all writers, quills in hand, waiting to document what is before us and rewrite those things we left behind.

We are desperate women, aching to make meaning where there is beauty and hope where there is brokenness.

Our hands tremble at the prospect.

We are all writers.

It takes a lot of bravery to craft the book of our lives-to put it in chapter and form, and to know that one day it will close and we will have nothing left to offer but the ink, nearly dry as we craft.

It is, at once, beautiful and devastating to live a life that realizes the power of a moment.

I shake my head.

It’s too much, I think.

Who am I to believe my words matter?

Do you wonder the same?

But He whispers with love and power-

I shape the letters of your life. Look around at the beautiful and splendid things, and write them.

Your job, love, is not to create the story.

It is to turn each page and listen.


Believe that it is all worth telling.

I know the truth underneath this, after all.

My hands tremble not in my own power, but the knowledge of my own iniquity.

And the privilege overwhelms me, steals my breath.

I am His forever.

Let the wind whip through the chapters and the words drip onto the pages as they will…

I will see Him here.

My fingers outstretched toward the cup-not to gulp-but rather, to hold its wonder as long as time allows.

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