Alone with God

   The Lord is doing a new thing and He wants His children in on it.  I am in a set-apart place, away from the mainstream, separate from the loudness of the world and its busy-ness.  It's a place of quiet and work.  I'm writing my new book, alone with God and my work-- but I'm not without trials.  Constant interruptions, problems surround me left and right, yet I feel in the midst of all storms I can create my own private sancutary and retreat.  We don't always need the bucolic bliss of solitude beside a mountain stream, or a month at the seashore-- we can create our own retreat in the midst of the storm, like the cleft of the rock.  I think I'd like to name my writing studio "Cleft of the Rock."  I've been calling it my Upper Room, but it's more than that.  My Upper Room has congealed to the size of a pocket cleft, yet by the Spirit of God, embraces the entire world. 
   I can do nothing without Him.  The truth is, I don't want to do anything without Him.  How foolsih would that be?  I'm accustomed to separating myself from the world and locking myself away with the Lord Jesus alone-- this is nothing new-- yet, somehow this time set apart from the world around me, it feels fresh and new, like it's the first time I ever fasted and prayed.  I miss the woods and the hills and the sunrises and sunsets, but up here in my attic studio, I am with Him, alone with Him, and that's better than anything.

I've been travelling this past weekend-- and I've seen enough of airplanes and airports to last me at least two weeks (when I travel again)--  I have been working off-and-on at a collection of travel stories and one of them deals with the way people eat when away from home.  Have you ever noticed the truck loads of junk food in airports and the hoards of people gobbling it up?  I wonder if we don't just lose our minds when we're between two points.  It's somewhat the same when when we're on vacation.  (not that I'm EVER on vacation!  I'm not sure what that means--)  But I've noticed when I'm in a town speaking or when tourists come to our town, anything goes in the food department.  "Pass the junk, I'm temporarily insane,"  seems to be the credo.  I can usually tell the locals because they're the ones eating salads and no dessert.  The tourists are packing away the deep fried fish and mud pie. 
I had long airport delays and lay-overs this trip, and when I realized I had to eat something I found myself in that vacant-head mode and ordered food I simply NEVER eat.  (I'm a sort of a quasi-health food guru-- you know, the carrot-carrying party-poop with celery in her ears and everything organic and whole grain?--)  So there I am in the Travers City airport with three hours to kill and I'm eating cherry pie.  (The last time I ate cherry pie was probably when I was four.)  I had to run to  find a mirror to see if I was the same person.   I had a sudden craving for french fries and I noticed everyone around me was wolfing in unhealthy, greasy, sugary, gluey food too-- faces empty, eyes stuck to screens of past football games on the many TV monitors.  I tell you, travel is not just about getting from here to there, it's about maintaining a sense of self and purpose.  I said no to the french fries, bought a bottle of water (a 10cent bottle of water is $3.49 in airports-- don't get bitter)  and found a seat in the boarding area to work on my book.
The book I'm currently working on is a true story-- heart-wrenching and shocking.  I'll tell you all about it as soon as I'm nearing its completion.  Please pray for me-- send up a "Help her, Jesus" as I plug away on it.
Here's sending you love and health and good choices--