End-of-the-Year Prayer (There’s More series, pt. 4)


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Father God,

Here at the end of the year, I want to thank You for opening my heart more this year than any other. Looking back, Lord, it has been a year with a smile for every tear.

In these twelve months, You’ve led me through so much, emphasizing one theme in particular: for some hearts to be opened, they need to be broken. Shattered by love so love could shine in and through.

How can it be that, while I’ve never felt more shattered, I’ve never been more whole? Perhaps I never saw clearly before, and perhaps I’ve never leaned on You so much before.

Here near the close of one of the happiest and hardest years of my life, I am at the end of myself, right where I ought to be. You brought me here, and I’m thankful. I wouldn’t want to walk the path again, yet I know there’s much more to trod. So I take Your hand once more, put my trust in Your love and wisdom, and wait to see what’s next. Because I now know that where You are, there’s so much more.

Love,

Meagan

 

When God’s Dreams are Yours


Image courtesy of Kenneth Cratty at FreeDigitalPhotos.netIt was the sort of question I hated. I took a sip of my latte as I formulated an answer. What would I like to be doing two years from now? Hmm.

The person across the table asking the question meant well. Perhaps the opportunity she wanted to lay out would be something I’d like to jump on board with. She waited patiently as I chewed my lip, unsure how to make what was in my heart sound logical—or at least more than a wild fancy.

I mean, I’m just a dreamer. Deep down, in those ten seconds as I tried to imagine not what I thought I would be but what I could be if I had my druthers, I knew I would always be a writer—was one regardless. But I also saw another dream I hadn’t discovered until earlier that year. Continue reading

Jewels


I don’t often write—let alone share—poetry, but today I felt lead to share a sample. It was written a few years back in another country by what feels like another person, but the truth of what God was showing me at the time remains unchanged. Hope it speaks to someone.


 

Jewels

“Why me?” I cry to God

Under the weight of pain.

“It’s too hard, it’s not fair,

I’ll never make it,” I complain.

.

So lost in me, I think

That no one suffers as I do.

“No one knows or cares.

No one know what I go through.”

.

“Not so,” You tell me.

“Did I not suffer and die?

I Who bore the sins of man,

Who knows more so than I?

.

“I Who raise the dead to life,

And turned water into wine,

Whose love required sacrifice—

I know what’s best for Mine.

.

“For the promise of glory,

I suffered willingly.

I place hard things in your life

To make you more like Me.

.

“Show Me what you’ve lost,

I’ll show what you’ve gained.

From my hand, dear child,

I give jewels out of pain.

.

“You won’t find them in your scars,

But in the days ahead you’ll see

From the suffering of today,

I’ve sown seeds that honor Me.”

.


“Jewels” Copyright Meagan Briggs 2011

Over at WRW today…


My post “The Melody Between Words” is featuring on When Readers Write today. Hope you can stop by!

While you’re there, take a look at some of the other posts by WRW’s authors. The group blog has been up and running since the beginning of April, and there’s a great variety of topics for readers and writers alike.

If you stop by, feel free to leave a comment–those of us at When Readers Write would be glad to hear from you.

See you there!

One Part Calling, Another Part Compulsion


Not long ago, someone asked why I chose to pursue writing. Responses for how, when, and where came to mind, but why was more elusive. After a moment’s consideration, the only way I could describe it was: “It was one part calling, another part compulsion.”

Eric Liddell, portrayed in the film Chariots of Fire, said, “I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run, I feel His pleasure.” Now, I’m no runner, but fortunately, this principle applies to everyone. I know that when I write, I feel His pleasure. Some days behind the desk can be brutal but never worse than the days spent away, fighting this compulsion-calling. Continue reading

It’s That Time Again


Tomorrow–can it really be?–I’ll be winging my way to Colorado Springs for the Writing for the Soul conference. I’m so excited to learn, network, and meet up with friends.

If you’ve never been to a writer’s conference, it’s a paradoxical thing that wears you thin and fills you to overflowing at the same time. Before I’d ever been to one, I envisioned them as a sophisticated type of club meeting where stereotypical writers (tweed suits and librarian glasses galore) hobnobbed and gushed morning, noon, and night for an extended weekend. I was wrong–and happily so.

Imagine, if you will, a few hundred writers in one place, buzzing on five hours of sleep and as many cups of coffee, flitting from lecture to appointments to meals and back to classes. Conversation never, ever runs low. As I’ve heard a conferee describe it, it’s one of the few places where everyone around you understands that you sometimes kill off people in your head. Continue reading