Fingers tap away at keys that make a beautiful, harmonious chorus of stories, memories, pain, and triumph. You keep writing. Your inadequacies tempt you to close the book, yet something compels you; it beckons, until you turn over your fingers once again to the Potter's Hands.
Did you know there are days I'm tempted to just end this silly thing called a blog? I mean really, the name is silly enough. But He is commander and chief of my heart. My will. My emotions. I lay it all back in His hands. For His glory.
If you are compelled, just as I, to keep writing (for your soul craves it and you find that on most days it keeps you sane), keep writing.
As large flakes of snow float gently to the ground, they settle. Pretty, yet not made beautiful. But in the early morning, as the sun shines upon that fallen, fresh snow, it sparkles and shines and reflects.
May we let the love of Jesus shine upon our words. May our fingers be turned over to the Potter's Hands. For His glory.