Through the years I’ve collected journals. Bound pages that are light, dark, lined, blank, spiraled, initialed, gold-edged, round cornered, flowered, Scriptured—all unique and distinct, yearning for ink to tango upon their open dance floor.
Yet, their dance card is unfilled.
“I’m tired of blank pages,” I say after a brief fistacuffs with myself. I pen these exact words in my newest journal—a hard covered, burgundy, gold trimmed, initialed, 9” x 6” booklet—that is almost too pretty to mar. It screams of calligraphy pedigree, not chicken scratch. I force my pen against its will.
Aha! Progress. One graceful pen stroke at a time I waltz across the page. I stain it with my tears, Starbucks, marmalade, drool. (Sorry, fell asleep.)
And when I open my journal the next day, I no longer see emptiness.
I see myself—my dance card full.
I have tap danced across the pages.
Alas…
I am a dancer.
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God gives us blank pages to write upon. He places the quill in our hands, but it's up to us to dip into His never-ending ink well and breathe life onto each page. Are we going to be wallflowers or glue our palm to His and waltz? Will we initiate that first step despite wobbly knees, wet palms and rosy cheeks, knowing others will be watching our every move? Will we brave the unknown, the unfamiliar and the awkward? Will we risk that nosedive? Will we twirl into His arms or spin out of control? If our routine is forgotten or we misstep, will we trust His lead? Will we kick up our heels or dig them in? Will we stumble upon His toes or match His stride? Will we pirouette to our own melody or sway to His symphony?
It’s our choice.
1 Spout:
I tend to dig in my heels....your words are penetrating!
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