Empty Vessel

This week I’m an empty vessel. I have no words to inspire you.

I often write late at night. Not necessarily because I want to, but because sanity only appears to enter my apartment hours after I have gotten home from work and set aside all the issues that I have allowed the outside world to lay upon me.

I turn off everything in my apartment and sit in the silence. The quietness will slow my pulse, and the silence opens my ears and something sacred happens. The soft slap of sandaled feet will break the stillness, a pierced hand will extend a quiet invitation, and I will follow.

I wish I could say it happens every night; it doesn’t. Some nights He asks and I don’t listen. Other nights He asks and I just don’t go. However, some nights I hear His poetic whisper, “Come to me, my son.” And I follow.

I am an empty vessel. “Fill my cup Lord, I lift it up Lord. Come and fill this thirsting in my soul. Bread from Heaven, feed me, until I want no more. Fill my cup, fill it up and make me whole.”