Skip to main content

Markers

Zechariah 4:10

New International Version (NIV)
 10 “Who dares despise the day of small things...

By Belinda


I have a ritual at Write! Canada. I love to get up early while my room mate still snoozes blissfully on; shower, dress and put on my make up. Then, trying not to wake her, I fumble around the dark room trying to remember where I left things the night before, feeling my way over unfamiliar furniture until my fingers find what I am looking for: my Bible, Daily Light, and journal.

Clutching my precious bundle of books and my room key, I unlock the door as quietly as I can and tiptoe down the hallway and into the long, almost empty lounge. 

There are usually one or two other early risers there in the dim morning light, fingers quietly tapping away at laptops. I find my own quiet corner with a seat turned away from others. 

This is always a time when I feel so close to God--a time set apart, away from the distractions of home--the mental "to do" list tempting me to just start the laundry or water the plants before sitting down with God--and then too often, I don't.
 
In my Daily Light on Saturday morning, I almost missed it, this verse underlined the previous year: Zechariah 4:10, "Who dares despise the day of small things... 


Oh...Is that what I have been doing? "Despising" the "small thing" that I consider my writing? I catch the gentle rebuke and I think back to the plenary of the night before. 


Grace Fox spoke to the 200 writers gathered in the sanctuary, about the journey that she describes in her book, Moving from Fear to Freedom

I had my note book with me--I was on the lookout for any "markers" that God might send my way.


These are some things that she said that caught my attention:


If God is in your writing then don't stop until he tells you to.

God can do anything he wants when we just say "Yes"


Jesus commands my destiny!


I will accomplish what concerns you.



My pen scribbled furiously.


And then she quoted this verse:

John 12:49-50

New International Version (NIV)
49 For I did not speak on my own, but the Father who sent me commanded me to say all that I have spoken. 50 I know that his command leads to eternal life. So whatever I say is just what the Father has told me to say.”

Although I've read that verse many times, I suddenly recognized that the title of this blog is hidden within them, even though it isn't the verse the blog title "Whatever He Says," comes from, (which is John 2:5.)


I felt like I had my marker. The servant is not above the Master;  if Jesus depended so entirely upon his Father, that was my key mistake lately; allowing life to consume me; running too fast to sit at his feet and allow his presence to soak into my soul and into my writing. It was no accident that I found myself adrift. I had truly lost my moorings for a while.


Grace, who insists that she was once shy, spoke with the fire of the Holy Spirit flowing through her to us.  


She was a living example of what she writes about in her book, Moving from Fear to Freedom and she said that God equips her to do what he has called her to do. I loved this--she said that we need to "Do it afraid."



Grace wrote recently on the topic of fear of failure. A friend had given her a greeting card that said, “Attempt something large enough that failure is guaranteed unless God steps in.” She said that is the way she has chosen to live her life. Wow!


I sat in the front row of the Irwin Room (the sanctuary,) blown away as ever other person in the room was, and I cried, wondering why I had chosen to sit in so visible a spot. I don't cry "prettily." :


I would have been good to go at that point. It felt as though God had spoken to me clearly through this dear and inspiring woman who described hearing him speak as "an icicle dropping on her head."

But then...on Saturday...it was the last hour of the conference. We all gathered for the last time in the Irwin Room to hear the last plenary address, by N.J. LIndquist, the co-founder of The Word Guild. Our bags were packed and already in our vehicles. In the air hung hopes, dreams and gratitude, and sadness at saying goodbye. We were all overflowing with the gifts of the past two and a half days, so very thankful for every minute. 
On the way in we separated our name tags from the plastic holders, saving the holders to be re-used next year. Our name tags themselves went into a basket. The final exciting moment is a draw for one person to get free registration for next year's conference.

The moment came, a name was drawn. "Belinda Burston of Bond Head," was the winner! 

And I think an icicle fell from the ceiling and hit me on the head.  

Comments

Leslie said…
As Paul Harvey says "And now you know the rest of the story...."

Thanks for sharing your gift of writing with all of us- how often I'm encouraged, challenged or blessed by you.
Susan said…
Are you sure it wasn't a feather and a leaf?
Marilyn said…
This was all wonderful, your habit of finding a seat turned away from others, the points of Grace's talk that you took furious notes on and your winning a free registration!

God met you there, for sure. Love it!
Janet Sketchley said…
Sounds like a double marker to me. Like God added an exclamation point:)

Keep on writing whatever He says, and you'll keep blessing us.
Belinda said…
Hey Friends,
I just came back from successful cataract surgery, seeing clearly! Spiritual cataracts are off too!

Sorry for all of the exclamation points. One of these days I will stop it. :)

Popular posts from this blog

The Most I've Ever Paid for Something I Didn't Want

We were young, that’s my excuse. I was 23 and Paul 26, but already we had done a lot of living in our time together--more than most youngsters of today would have done by then.
We had been married for almost four years, had immigrated to a new country, over 6,000 km away from home and were parents to a 3 and 1-year-old. We owned our own house--or at least two mortgages on the house and had settled down, or so I thought. Paul and I were barely scraping by, but we were making it on one salary, while I stayed home to care for our children.
It is at such times; I have come to understand, now that I am much older, that we should prepare for an adventure, for one is surely coming. 
Paul had a long drive to work, down a highway known for danger in the winter. He felt that we should explore moving closer to his place of work. I was happy in our home--had overcome two years of homesickness and loved our little village in the country. I was not in favour of the proposed move, but I did believe th…

Head Walker to Heart Warrior Part 2

One recent Saturday, I drove to St. Mary's to celebrate the Heritage Day festivities with my daughter. By then I was well into another journey, the search for a peaceful heart.

I had started the two and a half hour drive, early, choosing a route that avoided highways and had just driven through Beeton when the crossing lights up ahead signalled that a train was coming. I slowed to a stop and watched the hypnotic stream of boxcars, a seemingly endless graffiti gallery, gently swaying by on their way. A random surprise art exhibit.
As I drove through the village of Hockley, listening to CBC Radio, the bluesy voice of Canadian jazz artist, Laila Biali kept me company and set me bopping in my seat with her song, Queen of Hearts.  
Along one of the back roads after leaving the town of Orangeville, a big white tent stood in a field with a sign at the gate saying, "Gospel Meeting. All Welcome." The word "gospel," comes from an old English word with two parts: God (go…

Boundaries and Bonds

Almost three years ago, on the first Sunday of my "retired life," I left the church after morning service giddy with newfound freedom. Instead of turning left, from the church driveway, to go straight home, as usual, I decided to turn right, drive to the nearby village and visit my mother-in-law, whom I love.

I found her in her backyard, sitting on a garden swing, beneath a canopy that shaded her from the August sun. She loves to be out in the fresh air and loves to garden. Undeterred by the fact that her knees hurt and her leg may "give way" at any moment, she will strategize as though planning a complex military operation, and somehow accomplish the goal she has in mind. In between these manoeuvres, she will stop until she regains energy for the next onslaught.

That afternoon, we sat for a couple of pleasant hours in the sun. Around us, insects buzzed, birds sang, the breeze played with our hair as the canvas canopy over our heads flapped--and we talked--and talked…