Wednesday, 10:22 PM: Hacking through thatches.

The Bog has been getting the best of me. I’ve been circling above my blog site for weeks, mentally searching the empty, blank space of the Next Post for a glimpse of a fish in the white water: the clear, Inspired Insight that would propel me to plunge in and pour out a compelling paragraph or three.

Waiting for some invisible referee to blow a whistle and announce that I am actually qualified to do this.

Hoping that enough prayers and petitions with thanksgiving would move the holy Muse to overcome my sadness about the state of my gnarly hope, my unsteady Walk, such as it is.

Wondering if Needing To Forgive [important organization in my life] must be the source of the Bog block … Or is it simply lack of enough sleep lately to sustain a guinea pig?

This morning’s Word was compelling though, I have to admit. There it was, staring me right in the face even as I had been composing in my mind my daily confession of impotence as a writer (in the face of the Bog):

And how are they to believe in him of whom they have never heard? And how can they hear without someone preaching to them?

I can’t even recall how I got there, except that the Book was already open to Romans and I just… started reading.

And that was a whole 18 hours ago, basically a lifetime in my hectic world of work and children and the 57th day of hot, dusty sunny summer burning the edges of my sight and exhausting me from squinting.

I’m glad I sat down and started typing anyway.


(Verse note: Romans 10:14)



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