The Words We Write

I had this dream a few months back…

On a snowy night, I sat bundled on a bench near a firepit in my back yard. A kind friend sat on a bench across from me, and we enjoyed a relaxed but lively conversation while I tossed the completed pages from my current WIP into the flames. As we talked, I watched the pages curl around my words until they were nothing but ash. The fire crackled. The air smelled fresh, the way it does after a first snow.

Beyond the fact that I don’t have a firepit in my back yard, and I have yet to print out the final version of this novel, you might think (being writers who understand the profound labor of birthing a novel) that this was a gasp-worthy nightmare.

It was not.

It was actually a beautiful, peaceful moment. Just me and Jesus in a pure white world, communing over a cheerful, warming flame, as I slowly but surely sacrificed my latest blood, sweat, and tears, page by page, to keep the fire burning.

I can’t get this dream out of my head and it came to mind again, as I was pondering a completely different occurrence this Christmas Eve—the visit of the Magi to Jesus’ family home.

I’m all for remembering the “Reason for the Season.” But I also love the excuse of Christmas, allowing me to be extravagantly generous to everyone I love, with complete and total abandon. And, while nobody needs more useless stuff, I think it’s important to remember that neither Jesus (nor his family) ever turned down a thoughtful gift sincerely given, extravagant or not. I find it intriguing how often the gospel authors included these accounts of gifts, and Jesus’ gracious, thankful response to them.

Maybe we have these accounts to remind us how much God loves gifts—both giving and receiving them.

We might feel, like the little drummer boy quote, “I have no gift to bring.” Perhaps we’re more equipped, like the Magi, to offer elaborate and kingly gifts. Perhaps, like Mary and her expensive perfume, we’ve somehow acquired the ability to gift well beyond our means, and can exult in offering something unexpected and surprising.

God doesn’t owe us anything, and yet, freely gave us everything, fully aware we could never reciprocate.

Even so, and even though it ALL belongs to him, He joyfully accepts the tokens we offer, whether costly spices, perfume, a widow’s mite, our trust and hope…or, on a snowy night, page by page around a dream fire, the words we write.

Not all views expressed are those of every member of ICW.