A Prayer for Writers


"I'm waiting for you... I'm calling you."

“Tina, I’m waiting for you… I’m calling you.”

 

God, please be my writing companion. Let the Holy Ghost write with me and be my ghost writer. Make me lie down in green pastures of comfort when I write. Free me from Fear. 

Remove the spirit of Fear that wakes upon me like morning dew.

Remove the spirit of Fear that follows me around like a puppy.

Remove the spirit of Fear that weighs on me like a sweater, like a scarf, then like a noose.

Remove the spirit of Fear that chokes my good ideas.

 

Give me your Holy Spirit of comfort when I write.

Give me your Holy Spirit of peace when I write.

Give me your Holy Spirit of truth when I write.

Give me your Holy Spirit of joy when I write.

 

In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen. 

Thank you!

 

That’s why I write so well when I’m on vacation. That’s why my journaling began, when I wanted to peacefully reflect upon my experiences just for me. There were no audiences to please. There were no deadlines to meet. It was a time to sit with you God, to sit in your lap and write, to discuss things like a parent and a child, like two friends, like to lovers, like three of me, one in the past and one in the future, writing with me in the present. 

 

When I’m relaxed you become my writing companion. When I’m not relaxed, I burn a tremendous amount of energy stumbling through darkness that gets darker the more I write, the more I try to please some known or unknown audience, the more I dwell on my short comings, and the more I imagine failing or missing the deadline. This is not how to use the gifts you’ve given me.

 

I must push against the darkness of doubt when I write. I must remember the ocean sounds of the Atlantic in Porto da Baha from my roof top writing spot of Village Novo Hotel. I must remember the crashing waves along the shore in Pemaquid Bay Maine as I perched on the rocks writing. I must remember the tranquility of sitting on the dock at 4th Lake in the Adirondacks writing while my family slept in our rented cottage. I must remember sitting hidden under the tall trees in Letchworth Park in the middle of our campsite writing as hot air balloons loomed overhead, an unexpected treat. And I must remember all the nights I sat in my bed recounting the blessings, trials, confusions, and challenges of the day, and discussing them all with you Lord, giving thanks, seeking answers, and asking for help. And I must remember all the times I reflected upon miracles and sweet memories we shared together from my childhood, adulthood, motherhood, wifehood, friendhood, and loverhood, and the times I felt your love all around me, the sun on my face, the sweet smells in the air, and the times I laughed so hard I almost peed. Laughter so real, so deep from the bottom of my soul, exploding and pouring out like lava.

 

You see, I write best for me. Writing is like breathing. You inhale life’s experiences and you exhale your thoughts about them. With God as my creator who loves me, I can be pumped, harvesting my best fruit, all of my fruit and the choice fruits. My best fruit can be produced and given to God as my offering. So that’s why I write, to produce my best fruits with God.

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