So, the mountains aren’t a magical fix for my writing life. I had hoped that the change of scenery from the flat lands of Illinois to the majesty of Colorado would unlock within me the word torrent that has been building in my heart.
Nope. Scenery didn’t do it. Not that I haven’t been in position, hands at the keyboard, ready for the deluge.
When I’ve had time to write, I do move some words about on the page. Then I delete them all and start again. I do this so many times, my brain begins to fog over, and I can’t remember what I’ve been trying to say.
It feels like I’m getting nowhere.
The words that come out are pale looking and sickly sounding.
What happened to my words, Lord? They have shriveled up like the leaves of so many houseplants I have tried to nurture. My words are weak and droopy.
In God’s gentle way, He eases the knowing into my heart, the answer to my question, the reason for the sickness.
My words thirst for Living Water. But that’s only found in the deep places. And digging deep takes time.
I’ve been hovering at the surface, looking for some quick progress. I have the sense that God is calling me to sink my roots deeper into His creative well—for the sake of my work, yes, but mostly for the sake of my heart. More important than writing about God is knowing God.
This call to know God stands the test of time. Saints of old have sought Him, and the Lord Jesus demonstrated the need for deep, daily fellowship with the Father. More than 100 years ago, Andrew Murray spoke of the need for going deep with God in his collection of sermons titled The Inner Chamber and the Inner Life. His words diagnose the sickness of my own:
“And we go out into the day’s work without the power of an abiding fellowship because in our morning devotions, the blessing [of knowing God’s presence] was not secured.”
My words are sick because I need roots deep enough to tap the Living Water. Without Him, my day’s work will always lack progress and my heart will always thirst.
It’s time to dig.