Beloved |
I am a broken person letting God pick up the pieces and make something beautiful out of it. These are my honest confessions, musings, prayers, shortcomings, and encouragements. |
“No. You’re forgetting,” said the Spirit. “That was not how you began. Light itself was your first love: you loved paint only as a means of telling about light.”
“Oh, that’s ages ago,” said the Ghost. ”One grows out of that. Of course, you haven’t seen any of my later works. One becomes more interested in paint for its own sake.”
“One does, indeed. I also have had to recover from that. It was all a snare. Ink and catgut and paint were necessary down there, but they are also dangerous stimulants. Every poet and musician and artist, but for Grace, is drawn away from love of the thing he tells, to love of telling till, down in Deep Hell, they cannot be interested in God at all but only in what they say about Him. For it doesn’t stop at paint, you know. They sink lower- become interested in their own personalities and then i nothing but their own reputations.”
May I cease writing the day it becomes solely for writings’ sake and not for the means of telling about light. May I be more interested in God and my relationship with Him than simply saying things about Him.
