Around four in the morning I woke up, and I was cold. My summer blanket was not enough in the winter chill which descended on the mountain. I pulled up my warmer comforter, and fell back asleep, waking again at dawn. The chill air gave me a reason to lay a while and stare outside. Jays flew around, some mountain quail wandered along the hillside, occasionally pecking at the ground. Trees were filled with a flock of band tailed pigeons, not a bird which usually gathers in flocks. And squirrels were about, going from here to there and back again.

There is joy in writing for me. This morning I returned to it, and feel relief. It is not an easy task, getting to it and through it requires more than one ever expects. It fills, and it drains, but it is the kind of draining that exercise brings, wholesome and refreshing. I lose sight of the writing, I drift to other task, though important, and I lose that which grounds my soul, I lose the peace, the light becomes dull.

When I write I smile, I feel that this moment is just fine, my heart feels free and willing to take on the world, confident in who God has made me, eager to press on and see what comes.

I don’t write this to convince myself, or to defend my choices, I am only relating my feeling of the moment. What will come of anything I write, I have no idea. All I know is that doing it fills me like little else does, a feeling of “everything is alright”.

Writing, especially creative writing, is the way I focus on the present. It is the task which both grounds and enlightens my soul. Is it my calling? In this era this question is answered by the determination of money. Am I getting paid for it? No. That is not the question for me, however, but for others. It will not be my calling as others see it until a paycheck comes my way for the work I do.

That’s not what concerns my soul. I only seek to do what Christ has called me to do, and I know that had other paths opened up, I would not endure the frustrations and joys writing entails. It would have always been a secondary task for me, a means to an end, rather than something more purposeful.

For no at least. What tomorrow holds, I don’t know. It is important to be faithful in the moment, and do that which is before me. For in doing that I find peace, peace which is found nowhere else.