Last Sunday, I attended a retreat that said to protect that quiet time with Jesus because it is the time you communicate with Him. I must admit, I have been remiss in having quiet time with Him or even with myself for the longest time. It is so easy to get caught up in the running and routines of the day that the only memory you have is waking up and sleeping - in between seems like a blur like you were on auto pilot.
An opportunity presented itself when Tuesdays opened up for me and it became my sacred time. My roommate Boots said that I had not written for a while and that it was talent wasted and since my Tuesdays was my freest day, I should make it my quiet time. I confess that I have not written here or anywhere else. A year ago, I was a prolific writer with two to three entries per day and now, I have been a desert of words. I've missed it and even feel scared to write. I also neglected that sacred hour before bed to commune with God and read His Word.
I have left my craft untended for too long. And it wasn't easy to get this time to write. I had just decided to have and it almost didn't come true. I had a meeting today but it was rescheduled for Wednesday and I already had another training on Wednesday sot that would mean I was double-booked. I had forgotten that there was another meeting I was supposed to attend today but after consultation with a friend, I was reminded that I should guard my quiet time and I did. So I decided to stay at home and try to sit down and have that moment where I can just let go and let God. Part of that exercise is writing here because it is here where I've written most of God's messages and where I can see the stirrings of my heart and mind on virtual paper. It almost didn't happen as we had a visitor who came unannounced. It was a blessing in disguise as our friend brought us dinner meaning neither of us had to cook and I could have my quiet time soon. After dinner, lo and behold, I find myself in the kitchen looking at my plants and watering them. I couldn't sit down. I told myself that I need to get cracking at my keyboard if I were to write anything at all. It is so easy to get carried away.
So on Tuesdays when my time with God becomes sacred, I also take time to unleash the passion that God gave me. To paraphrase Boots, I will let the paper bleed from love of its pen. She said that when paper is written on, it is true love as it lends its pristine self to be penetrated by the pen.
Today, blood is spilt and transfers from pen to paper and in communion they give birth to magical words that tell of the Wanderer's Tales.