Working through Writers' Block

This familiar chair holds me this morning as it does every morning, patiently bearing my burden, knowing not that today inspiration comes slowly. It merely does its job consistently, knowing no haste nor delay.

This morning, I am to write a letter, as I often do, weaving words into eye-catching pictures of gratefulness. I know just where I want to go--to God's kindness for all people--but today my route, my map, seems especially evasive. Which flowers, which trees, should I photograph along the way?

I stare out the window, watching a friend park an audaciously large and bright vehicle at his office across the way. Another friend drives past in a humble little white car. It's even smaller than my humble little white car.

I think how kind the mechanics were to me yesterday in my ignorance, my near tears at the effort of learning their foreign language. I think how kind my father is to patiently translate for me at every turn, how generous my boss is to consult with me, adding his translations to my father's.

They, little thinking how much it means to me, offer a grace from God Himself.