It’s pretty late for a guy who will be up in a few hours, preparing to meet the challenge of another day. But I have my music playing on shuffle; the sounds are soothing and at times bumpy and disturbing. Occasionally I pause to look at the smudges on the tips of my fingers from pastel crayons I’m working with. This is life for me. The other stuff? I think that is the dream I’m preparing to wake from.
In the scheming and preparation of His Words, the sounds of music, the hum of tires driving in the quiet of night, the tap of the keyboard at my fingertips and the swirl of ideas in my head, all mix in a world of creative adventure. My brain at times seems incapable of bringing forth the many concepts beneath the surface but in truth, in each stroke of paint and each word I write a world is revealed. It isn’t a private fantasy but a dream shared by so many.
When I write and simply write from my heart and soul, I don’t worry about who will understand. My words will sink in; someone will see their reflection rendered in the words. They will stand and stare at a painting I’ve been blessed to render and the message will become more intense than a camera’s flash.
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