Thursday evening I sprawled beneath the corner tree in Richland Garden. The night cooled as the April sun sunk below the Nashville skyline. I felt the threads of my aztec blanket indent my forearms as I buried my face into ground for prayer.
I hadn't prayed in so long.
Earlier that evening my fraying nerves gave out.
I declared I would be taking a loose social sabbatical for three weeks for the purpose of reconnecting with my Creator.
"Abba, please speak to me."
I begged.
Strange--I never fully conceive of my own desperation for God until I call upon Him. When I am deliberate in meditation, steadfast in turning to scripture--I begin to realize how human I am, how exhausted I am--how sad I am.
I rested quietly.
Soon, I was no longer in the garden, but in my clearing.
My clearing: The place I meet with God.
In the middle of a perfect dirt circle, I stood. At the border of the circle (approximately ten feet out on all sides) towered tall pines and oaks overlooking the twilight sky--guardians. Against the dusty contrast of naked land, I studied my green rope sandals. My toes flexed and curled with ease--freedom! I then noticed I was dressed as a warrior--complete with bows, arrows, and a tomahawk. Several beads and various feathers were woven into my hair. My tan skin revealed cuts and bruises: Battle scars. I held out my hands and closed my eyes.
In my right palm an irridescent brick appeared,
Engraved in it was the word "Wisdom".
In my left palm,
Two notebook pages appeared:
My writing.
I then saw a desk illuminated in a dark office.
The golden brick glistened in the middle of the desk weighing down the two pieces of notebook paper.
Then the Lord said to me:
"I want to weigh down your words with wisdom."
I then opened my eyes and "woke up."
Suddenly, this "pruning" period of my writing began to make sense. When I was a child, I composed like a child. Now is the time for wisdom; for composing the truth of the Lord that is more precious than gold.
