Rocky Ground

I’ve come to the conclusion, as I often do in the wee hours of the morning life is about maneuvering. I’ll start at the ground level. We have all heard the parable, “Seeds that fall on fertile ground reap bountifully and those that fall on rocky ground are washed away. I get the parable, but what amazes me about the seed that falls on fertile ground, it always knows which way is up. I have never seen a seed with a “This End UP” label. Furthermore, the plant grows two ways. Its roots grow downward and bloom upwards. Despite gravity, despite having to push through the soil, the beauty comes from beneath the ground, and the strength stays deeply rooted, underneath. Where am I going with this? Like most writers (and I call myself a writer very loosely), they write from underneath, at least that’s where I write from. Alone, amidst my soil or strung about on the rocks, I write. However, I have a gift that flowers do not have; a seed effectively has one shot at making it. I have fallen on rocky ground, fertile soil, and sometimes I did not fall at all I was swooped up by fowl, or never settled because the wind blew me to and fro. Nevertheless, no matter my surroundings, the origin of what I write comes from that place, wherever it may be. I say this, because no matter where you land, its about maneuvering where you are.
What never ceases to amaze me, is that when I’m floating or lost or amidst the rocky soil, I write my most inspired pieces. To quote my own work, “My mood sways, I relish in the good times, but learn and grow in the low…” Hard times breed pain, but it also breeds reflection. Reflection is the tool given to us that allows change, being able to look into oneself objectively is truly a gift. Writing from the rocky places gives me a clarity like no other. On the other hand, when I am surrounded by good people, discipline, a plan, good soil, I always know which way is up. But being in a good place doesn’t mean that you are content. A friend told me, contentment is the grim reaper of progress. Not to sound trite, but pressure busts pipes, but it also as writing is concerned can create an explosion of ideas, thoughts, creativity and progression. And its not my progress, I’m so concerned about, if I can write to boost someone else, I’m as happy as I can be.

Vessel

I fed from the Word, and it made me strong, but told me how weak I was. I fed from the world, and it made me dizzy, drunk from pleasure, and told me how strong I was, but I was weak. I heard the voices calling me from inside the righteous places, but I ignored them, I was in frenzy from the hustle and bustle of the sidewinders, thieves and miscreants, I got my strength from them, they fed me slow poison that tasted good and looked good, but sewed nothing. Gave me trinkets and toys, that all the world envied, but they were cheap, and made me feel the same. I took from the world because I thought it owed me, I shunned what God provided because I knew I wasn’t worthy, I stole from God because he had it all, and gave into the world because I needed its approval. I toasted to good times, and relished in them, but despised the trying times, which set me up from the greatest gifts I could ever imagine. I stared in the face of evil, and embraced it like a wayward brother I longed to see. Impressed upon my life I fell into trap after trap, because they all had different bells and whistles, but in the spirit, if I dwelled there I would see they were all the same. Lies.

I stood and watched, as my soul took beating after beating. I smiled, like the misguided vessel I was, with no room to grow, it seems, but God sought differently, he plucked my being until I listened, miles in the sky, what better place. He gave me vision to write, even when my eyes do not grace the paper. The Gospel, now gives me the inspiration, take hold of my fingers Dear Heavenly Father, that Your Word shall be seen in this text. Gear me towards those things you would have for my life, and give me the wherewithal and strength to endure forever more….AMEN.