Why I Must Write

Ephesians 5.8-10 “...for at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true), and try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord.”

When I try to discern what is pleasing to the Lord in my life, I feel a strong impression on my heart that it is pleasing to Him when I write, when I raise my son in thinking, feeling God-centeredness, when I support my Husband in unity, and when I pray, work, and write on behalf of the children slain each day. This season, this moment, this is how I walk as a child of light. Do I fail? Every day. But you see, I am already a child of light, He sees me cloaked in Jesus' light, and His grace covers me beyond (another word should follow beyond... beyond what... I know not what, I simply know His grace covers beyond).

How do you walk as a child of light this season?

Ephesians 5.15-17 Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what the will of the Lord is.

"Days", nasty little imps with dark sunglasses and a bushy mustaches are running, and as each runs it picks up speed. In spite of "days", this verse presses with a sense of joyful urgency. Urgency, because time passes relentlessly, and my days on earth are numbered. Joyful urgency, because this verse encourages my heart that I can understand the will of the Lord.

Do your "days" wear dark sunglasses too?

1 Corinthians 9.9-10 For I am the least of the apostles, unworthy to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what I am, and his grace toward me was not in vain. On the contrary, I worked harder than any of them, though it was not I, but the grace of God that is with me.

I am not worthy of His affection, yet I receive it. God's grace in my life is not in vain. Here, I am what I am. What a releasing phrase. In God's grace, I am what I am. This thought does not deflate me to stagnant apathy. It releases me to heart-bending, exuberant worship. I am what I am, and I praise his grace through writing.

Through his grace, you are who you are too.

1 Corinthians 15:56-58 The sting of death is sin, and the power of sin is the law. But thanks be to God, who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. Therefore, my beloved brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain.

- girl 1

"Peace"
by R.P.E.

© 2008
All Rights Reserved

The Death of Africa: Part 1

Somehow the very atmosphere of my dream reeked with the undeniable fact that she was African. The air whispered that she was Africa. I dreamed I stood on the edge of a clearing filled with tall, dead grass. The clearing was about one acre and squatting in the center was Africa: a wrinkled old lady.

Looking closer, I saw she wore not more than four or five scanty rags. The rags clung to her diseased body in a half-hearted way. I flinched and stepped back though I could not tear my eyes from her hunched form. Her thin body was covered in some horrible disease’s handiwork that decorated her skin with splotches of purple and red flesh. My stomach heaved but could not give one drop to the parched grass between my toes.

It was not because I was ashamed at her conditions that my stomach heaved, but because I was ashamed at my conditions that could have changed hers. I have at least nine sets of clothing and consistently buy more. I have immediate medical help of any kind to use any time I so desire. I spent seventeen dollars on a cute top that I could have spent saving her. As I berated my past actions and wealth, she twitched with the start of a seizure. Then, I stood, helpless as she violently convulsed in pain and fell writhing on her face.

The winds of my dream carried my screaming doubts to and fro: I am no doctor! What should I do? My First Aid class was more than ten years ago! I ran to her side. Her three teeth repeatedly gashed her gums as her arms and legs flailed through the dream’s fog. I wrung my hands as I struggled to think clearly. I had to save her, but how?! I fumbled through my pockets as foam began to bubble out her mouth.

When I felt a cold, hard rectangle in my back pocket I shrieked my relief; now I could call an ambulance! Africa would be saved, and I would be her savior! Not wavering a bit, I pressed the “ON” button.