Divine Erasure

Nowhere am I so blank as at my desk of creativity. I sense a sort of divine erasing going on… not the erasure of deity, but the divine erasure of me. Like Thoreau, who once said, “I’ve always wished I was as wise as the day I was born,” I find myself wishing I was as articulate – with age has come my babbling. But something is happening that I recognize, an erasing of sorts. Not that I am left empty or void of all meaningful events in my life prior to now, there is just not as much to say about them as there once was. The memory is still present, the commentary has left me and, therefore, silent is the narration that tells me purpose has filled my life.
It is a struggle, but maybe I detect grace to this quiescence. Perhaps God is quieting me for His purposes. It is expectant, really. Like a blank chalkboard with which the teacher starts class. Prior to beginning he swipes clear the extraneous markings from the day before. (Though all can clearly see the film of yesterday’s notes clinging to the board.) This clarity must – I need it to – bring expectancy for new words, new writings, and markings and scribbles that connect dots for the student and bring sight to deaf ears.
Like my daughter said while randomly strumming a guitar yesterday, “That sounds like a rainbow!” There are those who hear when they see, and there are those who see when they hear. Well, I am quiet. Quiet and blank. So, the board has been swiped clean for a fresh word, lest the board itself be erased, too. What shall He say today?
- Tob Adams