This day is different. Unique. It isn’t yesterday. It isn’t tomorrow. It is today. Right now. Today is in front of us, staring us down. Tomorrow it will be behind us, never returning. Time. How do you spend yours? As I write this in the early morning hours, two of my boys are near me…snoring. Up early but now crashed on the couch. My two other children are still snuggled in bed. And their father has already left for work.
The refrigerator hums to me. The laptop light nearly blinds me. Birds sing to me. They do their dance from branch to branch. No cares. No bills. No teenagers. No worries. They chat, taunt a prowling cat and fly through my backyard and their life with ease. Must be nice, I smirk.
This month is new. This year is new. Both untouched: Clean slates for us to write upon. Using the same pen but brand new paper. Will we continue our current novel or send it to the scrap heap? What adjustments are needed? Are we willing to make them?
Will we trust the Editor with our manuscripts? Ask for assistance? Be secure with His modifications? Like most editors, the Master Editor reviews our text for needed changes. Editors insert or delete commas and periods, change tenses, delete entire paragraphs, sometimes removing the article’s original point. They change everything! Our job is to write. And, submit. Have you submitted your manuscript, your ideas, your life to the Master Editor for polishing, suggestions, and improvements? Are you prepared to yield to His changes?
Our lives are only rough drafts. Here on earth, we write and rewrite. Learn the craft, learn to accept rejection letters and hopefully, improve our skills. We polish. We refine. In heaven, we read the manuscript with new eyes, enjoying the changes, remembering the journey that finally made our book, our life, into the best seller it was designed to be. Number one on the charts.
The next page of life begins with today. Driving to work, doing the laundry, teaching children or searching for a job. Dealing with a difficult co-worker, mounting bills or a troubled child or spouse. Life isn’t always smooth but remember, conflict keeps the story line interesting (unless of course you’re the one living it!).
Meet with your Editor often. Submit proposals, pray for wisdom, welcome suggestions and make needed changes.
Now, pick up the pen.
"This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it" (Psalm 118:24 NIV).
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Thursday, December 6, 2007
Hop On My Harley Baby Jesus!
By Mary DeMent
Recently, I bumped into a lady from church at Wal-Mart. While talking on her cell phone, she paused to say hello. Hurried and discouraged she said, “I’ve just been to three stores and I can’t find anything with “Jesus” written on it! I guess I’ll just have to make it myself,” she resolved. Later that night, my sister-in-law called and voiced similar concerns. Annoyed, she blurted, “Where are the manger scenes? I see Santa Claus, reindeer, snowmen, even penguins but I can’t locate a decent manger scene!”
As I listened to her frustrations, my two year-old son played near my feet. He clutched his toy motorcycle. Down on all fours, he raced it around and around on the floor, zigzagging multiple toys, crashing into others. When he came upon the Fisher Price manger scene, he revved the engine. “Vrmm! Vrmm! Vrmm!” Next, without hesitation, he ramped the motorcycle up and over the manger. I chuckled, while thinking, “no room in the Inn? Hop on board my Harley, Baby Jesus!”
I laughed. Then my thoughts turned serious. If we don’t make room for Jesus in our stores, in our homes and in our lives, who will? I listen to the Christmas story and find it difficult to believe that no one could arrange room in the inn for these exhausted, young travelers. The trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem was no hop, skip and jump. I’m certain their clothes and demeanors showed wear from the extensive journey. Yet, no one would allow Mary and Joseph into their cozy room. Granted, those door closers didn’t fully comprehend that God’s Son, a future King, the future Savior of the world snuggled inside Mary’s womb. Regardless, an enormously pregnant, weary, teenager stood outside the door needing a place to stay, not to recharge her iPod and cell, not to rest, but to labor, to deliver a baby. Still, no offers? No one had a bed they could give up for the night? Not even a cot, a piece of the floor, nothing?
Right in the middle of my judgmental moment, I paused. Am I any different? How much room am I willing to give Jesus and those He died for? Is my welcome mat out and inviting? Or, is a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on the door of my life? How much of my time and energy do I offer Him, others? If I don’t prepare a meal, dry a tear, or slow down enough to see or hear the needs of those around me, who will?
“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:6-7 NIV).
“While they were there.” I wonder. Who has God sent into our individual areas, our neighborhoods, our work places, our shopping centers, our homes? They may not be registering for the census or delivering a baby, but I believe God has placed them along our paths. So, I encourage us: Let’s make room.
By Mary DeMent
Recently, I bumped into a lady from church at Wal-Mart. While talking on her cell phone, she paused to say hello. Hurried and discouraged she said, “I’ve just been to three stores and I can’t find anything with “Jesus” written on it! I guess I’ll just have to make it myself,” she resolved. Later that night, my sister-in-law called and voiced similar concerns. Annoyed, she blurted, “Where are the manger scenes? I see Santa Claus, reindeer, snowmen, even penguins but I can’t locate a decent manger scene!”
As I listened to her frustrations, my two year-old son played near my feet. He clutched his toy motorcycle. Down on all fours, he raced it around and around on the floor, zigzagging multiple toys, crashing into others. When he came upon the Fisher Price manger scene, he revved the engine. “Vrmm! Vrmm! Vrmm!” Next, without hesitation, he ramped the motorcycle up and over the manger. I chuckled, while thinking, “no room in the Inn? Hop on board my Harley, Baby Jesus!”
I laughed. Then my thoughts turned serious. If we don’t make room for Jesus in our stores, in our homes and in our lives, who will? I listen to the Christmas story and find it difficult to believe that no one could arrange room in the inn for these exhausted, young travelers. The trip from Nazareth to Bethlehem was no hop, skip and jump. I’m certain their clothes and demeanors showed wear from the extensive journey. Yet, no one would allow Mary and Joseph into their cozy room. Granted, those door closers didn’t fully comprehend that God’s Son, a future King, the future Savior of the world snuggled inside Mary’s womb. Regardless, an enormously pregnant, weary, teenager stood outside the door needing a place to stay, not to recharge her iPod and cell, not to rest, but to labor, to deliver a baby. Still, no offers? No one had a bed they could give up for the night? Not even a cot, a piece of the floor, nothing?
Right in the middle of my judgmental moment, I paused. Am I any different? How much room am I willing to give Jesus and those He died for? Is my welcome mat out and inviting? Or, is a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on the door of my life? How much of my time and energy do I offer Him, others? If I don’t prepare a meal, dry a tear, or slow down enough to see or hear the needs of those around me, who will?
“While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn” (Luke 2:6-7 NIV).
“While they were there.” I wonder. Who has God sent into our individual areas, our neighborhoods, our work places, our shopping centers, our homes? They may not be registering for the census or delivering a baby, but I believe God has placed them along our paths. So, I encourage us: Let’s make room.
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