As I sit on the back patio, watching the torrential rain and listening to thunder crackle across the sky, I feel the urge to write. But imagination has a way of warping time—suddenly, Laura is calling my name. Through the back door window, I see her lounging in the recliner, tapping her watch. It’s time to pick up dinner.

I’m so impatient. I long for time to pour out what’s stirring in my heart. And just when I begin, the moment slips away—and I’m left feeling like it’s already too late.

It’s more than just the feeling that frustrates me—it’s the way it exerts such a strong influence, triggering a visceral reaction to what I have yet to write down. The Spirit of God works in such a way that allows me to recognize the error and make real-time calibrations, to mold and shape the feeling into something useful.

It’s dark now, yet the sky dances with light against a glowing gray backdrop. You can hear the splash of puddles as water hits the curb while cars drive by. “There’s so much I need to catch up on—so why am I writing?” I think to myself. Ah yes, because I’m molding and shaping energy into something useful.

My issue is that I think of several different things without appropriately compartmentalizing those thoughts, and those thoughts carry an energy meant for molding and shaping—working, creating, reflecting.

Much like the sky compartmentalizing the storm, the energy within that compartment is used to mold and shape the clouds, rain, lightning, and thunder—until finally, the storm ends, just like this work of writing.

From what the Lord gives by this work, I pray it to be the discovery of our ability to energize our feelings and thoughts for the glory of God.

Let the Spirit govern the storm. Let the Word divide the clouds. Let the time we think is lost become the space where the Lord brings order out of chaos.