If I didn't believe, what would be the point?
As a writer, I am always getting story ideas. I warn my friends who visit that I catch myself listening to what they say with this thought: That would make a great story!” I say it jokingly, of course. For the most part.
I keep a stash of paper handy wherever I am, in case I need to get a story idea down while it’s fresh. There is a yellow legal pad by my chair in the living room, and a notepad stuck with a magnet strip to the door of my refrigerator. There is a small notepad in my purse and another one in my car. (I will neither admit nor deny having ever written down some key words while also looking at the road from behind the wheel of my moving vehicle.) And then there’s the electronic paper that is my phone. If I am away from everything else, especially at night after my head has hit the pillow and I don’t want to turn the light back on, I will type in a quick sentence or two that I can come back to later.
Needless to say, I have paper everywhere. Piles here. Piles there. All shapes. All sizes. All because I believe I just might hear something God wants me to pass along.
If I didn’t believe, what would be the point?
The same can be said about life with Jesus. If I didn’t believe, there truly would be no point to much of anything. But because I believe, I want to be ready. Opening my Bible because I believe I will read something important. Listening to a message because I believe I will hear something that will bring me closer to Him. Listening. Looking. Ready.
And when I am listening and looking and staying ready, I find I am becoming something else, too: hopeful.
©2017 Wendi Miller
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