Midnight Special

                                                                  Midnight Special

After the Publisher’s Appointment

Theology in the Trenches

by Kathleen Kjolhaug

 

Perhaps it’s therapy I need as scrambling thoughts race to and fro. An after-hour's call would be costly, not that I have a number to dial, or money to pay for such a time as this. Thank goodness blank pages and a keyboard act as landing gear as I pound outwardly that which is within.

Were the words I spoke too many? Were they too few? Was my message clear? Did I offer too much of me and not enough of Thee? Was I foolhardy to think an offering other than the one You’ve given is something I dare seek?

I ZOOM in—taking a closer look at a dream taking shape. Try as I might to reconcile within that which has already taken place, I revisit the conversation once again. It feels as though each word came out all wrong. Doing laps around word choices for days before the meeting finally tumbled out like a dryer holding a pair of tennies.  And, when the door opened each sounded —well—with a thud upon the floor.  

I stop those thoughts. They cannot advance, for it was my sister in Christ with whom I spoke. She remembers me not, no doubt, and has moved on to the next and the next and the stand out was not me and I was not chosen and it did not feel good.

“Dear Lord, You are enough,” I whisper all gentle-like over and over. I breathe out. “All things are sifted through your fingers with love. The ‘no’ is for a better ‘yes’ down the road.”

Mother Teresa said, “All writing is a gift from God.” She said, “I am just a pencil in His hand.” And I know that. And I believe that. But now, I must put it on and wear it today and the next and the next. Knowledge is one thing, living it another.

The call…the desire to fill empty pages beckons like a wink to come tarry. And when I see each empty page within journals or notepads, the desire to fill spaces with whimsical nonsense or something to make sense of that which goes on within resurfaces with vigor—and so it goes and on it goes with all of those who are writers. We cannot—not write. That’s just the way it is.

And so, at this late hour, after that which was prepared has been presented, I ponder. I ponder—Am I good enough? And the answer is always the same as my thoughts peak. You created and did not only say it was good but very good. Made in the image of Christ I am—so what more can there be for I truly do desire more of Thee.

I give to Thee all of me cause You know better than I the needs and so it goes. “Jesus I trust in You,” say the great saints who have gone before us. Pure prayer it is to trust in Him. Pure prayer it is to live out trust and pure prayer it is to accept Thy will and not my will.

Human disappointment dissipates as hope inspires desire—whatever that means. I am not sure. I am certain though, of one thing. You know better than I...my needs, Lord, and for this, I am most grateful.

For now, I sit in the quiet and ponder. I didn’t know I was hanging on to the hope of something different. Being “chosen” or not for the team during recess was always a hit or a miss depending on the batting order needed. This time, I missed.

I tell myself I am brave—even if I don’t feel brave. I tell myself I am courageous—even if I don’t feel courageous. I tell myself I am loved—and funny thing is—I can feel that one deep down to my toes.

 Doors did not close, rather, the gate redirected. A movement of hope stirs within.

I rest until the rest is known. Lord, I do not know if my desire to be united with You is, in fact, something I am united in with Thee. But, I do know that even my desire to be—is pure prayer. Amen.