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Ready WriterWhen first I see the void of an unwritten page, I cannot help but feel the roaring elation of an orchestral cacophony rise before the start of the symphony. As the conductor, I ascend the stage and the holy hush falls. My musicians and their instruments wait only for my wand to fall. I am the creator here, and anything is possible.

I am the master of the empty page. My faith displaces the future’s fallow foothold of doubt. This emptiness is the playground of God. It is the dark chaos before, “Let there be light.” It is the opportunity for something new to exist, and for all things to be made new.

I stand at the cusp of a moment, at the intersection between fear and fate. I stand between the dividing line of the impossible and faith. This is the playground of creation; this is homeland of God.

This is the playground of creation; this is homeland of God.

The canvas; a place where my decisions become collisions with darkness, where light and substance combine to fill the void. I am the void-stripper, shredding the illusion of emptiness in the night. I initiate the fusion of awareness with light. Suddenly, I see!

I see the substance of unmarked mysteries and feasts to feed the hungry heart. I awaken into the rhythm of reality, the eternal symphony saturated with movement and life.

This movement is life. His movement is in the making. Even in the stillness my body shouts, dancing to the rhythm of its own life-drum, sculpting and shaping, creating and recreating the masterpiece of its own design. I am born and reborn in the melody of unimpeded movement.

The enemy stills life in the void with the entropy of aging, the callousness of cold, and the poison of disappointment. Death follows close behind the castration of imagination. It glories in the cauterization of conception. Death revels in the increase of unarticulated thoughts, unrealized desires, and untested potentials. Death thrives upon the dereliction of dreams.

Let passion impale that leprous Death who only comes to sterilize, paralyze, and disconnect.

Therefore dance! Therefore shout! Therefore scream against the numbing cold! Bleed against the encroaching darkness and radiate the evidence of your life. Testify with tenacity; fly with ferocity. Let passion impale that leprous death who only comes to sterilize, paralyze, and disconnect.

Fill your empty pages with the fiery fiber of your faith. Weave your melodious movements. Dance from page to everlasting page. Do not still the story of your life. Do not let your pages remain blank. Saturate them with the water from your fountain welling up into eternal life.

Lock eyes with Christ. Can you see your reflection in Him? You were made in the image of a creator. You were created to create.

Psalm 45:1 – My heart overflows with a good theme; I address my verses to the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer.

2 Corinthians 3:3 – You show that you are a letter from Christ, delivered by us, written not with ink but with the Spirit of the living God, not on tablets of stone but on tablets of human hearts.

Psalm 102:18 – This will be written for the generation to come, That a people yet to be created may praise the LORD.













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