My fingers curve above the keys. There's a will to write but not always a word to write. This is hard to admit. I expect there to be words when I come to the computer. I expect God to meet me here. To meet me in my notebook. But sometimes the clearest message that I have of His presence EVER is that He's silent sometimes. I'm not sure if that makes sense to everyone, but...
When we love someone, we aren't ALWAYS with them. Sometimes they leave for a time. And we feel that absence. Obviously. We can't manufacture their presence by slight of hand, but sheer force of will. They are either there or they are not. It isn't our doing at all. Unless we are certifiable and have conjured them, sometimes they are silent. This is simple truth.
So too, clearly, God sometimes doesn't speak. I could wish--no, could, do pray--it otherwise. I pray I am always, completely inspired by word, and Word and WORD to write cogently of Him. I pray that there is always something new revealed to me, privately and (now) publicly about who He is. But He isn't a giant slot machine. He isn't a magic trick. I cannot conjure God up. He is who He is.
So I sit. I write this. He either inhabits my words (as a blogger friend put it yesterday), He Incarnates them. Or He doesn't.
The question is. Does He inhabit the writing? Or does He inhabit the reading of the words I write?
Because sometimes when I write, I think it's a field of dry bones. But then I receive an email of how touched a person was, that those dry bones were the flesh they most needed on their own skeleton. He uses what He will as He will.
This is true for each of us. In all of our dealings.
"For this reason, I remind you to fan into flame the gift of God, which is in you through the laying on of my hands, For the Spirit God gave us does not make us timid, but gives us power, love and self-discipline." 2 Timothy 1: 6-7