Giving it Up. Again.

I can never figure out this writing thing. It is my passion, it is my poison. I make a plan, I can't carry that plan out. 

And it's then that I need to return to all of my old jots and thoughts upon that magical word: surrender. 

God has given us gifts for a reason. But sometimes it's only when we give them to him that they become what they are meant to be. Lewis said it this way via his devil character Screwtape in the Screwtape Letters, my copy of which is worn to bits: 

"Of course I know that the Enemy also wants to detach men from themselves, but in a different way. Remember always, that He really likes the little vermin, and sets an absurd value on the distinctness of every one of them. When He talks of their losing their selves, He only means abandoning the clamor of self will: once they have done that, He really gives them back their personality... when they are wholly His they will be more themselves than ever. Hence, while He is delighted to see them sacrificing even their innocent will to His, He hates to see them drifting away from their nature for any other reason. And we should always encourage them to do so." 

Writing is a gift. But it is a gift that I cannot use for my broken whims and my selfish pointlessness. 

It sounds so simple, but it's so difficult: Seek first His kingdom, and the rest will be added. I need to go there again, and make my home.

It's terribly beautiful there. We just constantly need by reminded. 

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