Oh my goodness, my head hurts.
I'm exhausted, worn out by a brief bout with insanity in the form of a tension-induced, adrenaline-fueled temper burst. Literally came out of nowhere like a flash and left just the same, leaving me feeling like a drunk reeling from a heavy-weight contender's rapid-fire jab, feeling the pain but unable to comprehend the source.
I don't want to push forward, but there's work to be done. Good work. Important work. So I grab my own shirt collar, yank myself up into my chair and fix my eyes on this blasted computer screen. If the muse comes, I'll have a sermon for tomorrow. If she doesn't . . . well, that's not an option for Easter Sunday, is it?
But I hope she does. Oh, do I. Because she visited for a while yesterday, and it was good. That sermon was cooking up to be a classic, the juices were flowing and the dead bones of the outline were taking on sinew and flesh. And so here I sit, a manic Dr. Frankenstein trying to breathe life into a once-living, now-dead creation. Only instead of a blasphemous cry to the storm-filled sky, I cry out to the God of all creation, to send His Spirit, to fill my mouth with His words, sweeter than honey.
Life!! GIVE MY CREATION LIFE!