The Traveler

When I first put my hand down to write I imagined that He would speak to me softly: in soft tones and gentle timbres discharging the words like the slow trickle of a quiet stream. Picking my pen and dusting the cobwebs that had gathered in my mind, I conceived a number of stories that would delight you and take you on that long-awaited journey through vistas replete with a myriad of beautiful creatures and adventure. I imagined as a writer is wont to that every tale would give off a graceful vibe that would entertain the mind and quiet the raging of your soul. But He rejected them refusing to allow me venture on a quest to impress you. Then He spoke.

His words raged like the wind with fiery outbursts interspersed within. Just as thunder His voice boomed large and loud from within me quizzing my every move. He riddled me with a barrage of questions. You would understand this if you wore the sandals Saul had on as he journeyed to Damascus with death and destruction in his head. Perhaps you would see clearly as the thief on the right who in that moment, inches away from the grave, realized his awesome folly. I had missed my purpose. I had veered off into the wild night and like the proverbial wastrel was indulging in a life without light.

My pen lay tremulous, shrinking away from the light now seeping into the chamber of my thoughts. I sat quiet in a dark room, hunched over a blank note, musing, considering the pitiful state I now found myself in. The empty piece of papyrus raised accusations at me, challenging me to a duel. But I was fearful that I would speak out of turn and curse the page. I was frightened by the prospects of losing myself in between the lines, or getting trapped beneath the terrible weight of misguided phrases. With trepidation dancing on the carpals of my right hand, with beads of sweat emerging on the furrows of my head I reached for the ballpoint and gave room to the Wind of God.

His billows quieted the inferno in my heart. For I had become a vacuous vagabond whose vault had been stacked full of vituperative verses. He pointed me to the tree on a hill. I saw this and crumbled like a park of cards. You ask why? What do you do when you see a tree whose branches were the outstretched arms of a man? What can you say about a tree whose trunk had been invaded by the nailed feet of an ex-carpenter? What words can describe a tree whose bark is laced with the blood of the itinerant preacher? I had not known, I had not seen, what I heard had been the sloppy seconds of ignoramuses.

I had heard it said before – Jesus saves. But it had just been a cliche, a phrase thrown out frivolously by bible-thumpers. Now I understood. I saw a light whiter than the whiteness of the blank page before me. This would be my message. This would be the Life that my pen would spit forth. I would seek to know Him crucified and exulted. I would be the seer whose lips were warmed by coal from the altar, whose mouth tasted the very pages of the book of God. I would be the scribe whose pen would only speak as directed. I would give in and not resist. I would not struggle to impress or engage in a skirmish with the Wind any longer. I would be THE TRAVELLER. I would pick my pen and together we would go on a voyage led by the Spirit. I would not speak of what I have not experienced nor regale you with exaggerated tales of my accomplishments. I would not entice you with lofty adverbs, tainted truths or ghastly phrases.

Let the righteous smite me and it shall be kindness. Let him reprove me and it shall be excellent oil – David (Guild of Prophets, Poets and Psalmists)

And thus I picked that pen with renewed gusto. I had zeal but it was laced with ample amount of knowledge. Then He spoke and his words were as honey in my mouth. He serenaded me and it was as though I was transported by the zephyr to a raging cascade of love. You will understand now why I can only speak of Grace. You will understand now why I cannot speak of my own perfections as though I have already attained. You will understand why I cannot but allow my art to be laced severely with my faith.

The question is will you join me on this voyage?

Petroleum engineer? Yup. But I love writing as much as I love solving complex reservoir engineering problems. Watch out for poetry. Still trying to soar the heights of prose tho' Stay tuned dearies.

16 thoughts on “The Traveler

  1. ….Something Very different about this write-up… wonderful skill in d writeup.. But most importantly the Message… sure joining u on the voyage. Job Well Done.


  2. I had heard it said before – Jesus saves. But it had just been a cliche, a phrase thrown out frivolously by bible-thumpers. Now I understood. I saw a light whiter than the whiteness of the blank page before me. This would be my message…

    I am with you fellow traveller 🙂


  3. Bro..I am ready…what privilege it would be to sail the seas of the Spirit with you, with the winds of Zoe pumping life into the sails of our hearts. What honour it would be to raise high the mast of The Saviour’s love for all the people in the islands of the world to see….


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