The preacher walked into the kitchen and opened his Bible. He turned on his laptop, ready to begin preparing the sermon that he was to deliver on Sunday. He pours himself a cup of coffee as his mind races through thoughts that have seemed to plague him for months.
He sits down in front of his computer and looks at the Bible. He is anxious. He places his hands on the keyboard and he cannot even bring himself to type one word. His mind will not stop attacking him with these thoughts. He has to have some relief from their endless, agonizing, torture.
He walks into his bedroom and there on his nightstand, he picks up a notebook. Dust covered and a bit worn, he wipes his hand across it to remove some of the dust. It is his journal. The walk back to the kitchen is short but seems to take awhile. Thoughts flood his brain as to what he might write down. It has been a long time since he has written anything in his journal.
His journal is full of pages with his deepest thoughts. Raw, emotional, gut-wrenching thoughts. Thoughts that are real and authentic. These pages reveal the soul of a man who has both been blessed and wrestled with God. He knows why it has been so long since he last wrote. The pen is like an attachment of his body. When the pen touches the paper, it is like cutting a vein and bleeding all over the paper. What is inside just seems to pour out onto the paper.
The preacher sits down at the table. He takes a sip of his hot coffee and proceeds to move the laptop away from him. He sits the tattered notebook in front of him and opens to the first blank page that he comes too. He takes another sip of his coffee.
He picks up his pen. He is ready. He is not sure exactly what will come out but whatever is in him causing him to be restless, anxious, uneasy has to come out. If it doesn’t, he thinks that he may never find peace.
The pen touches the page.