As the sun rises, the only object on the dining table is a black book of notes. If I lose this book, it is doubtful that anyone will be able to return it. I did not write a title. My name and contact details cannot be found anywhere. I do not think it was intentional. It does reflect that the book captures personal notes from a wide range of conversations about a stealth start-up. As I read old pages, I do not see any value to anyone, even a competitor. The scribbles are specific to a time, place, and subject. Each page is an individual moment. The only constant is the author.
I realise that in many ways, my heart and soul are books that contain the only record of my conversations with Divinity. Even if someone could read the details, they would likely struggle to understand the context. I am not always clear and rational in my dialogue, especially with Divinity. Emotions, speaking before thinking, and multiple meanings expressed in a jumbled mess are far more common than I acknowledge. As I start a day filled with virtual meetings, I can hear Life leaving whispers as guides and reminders.
Relationships come with privileged conversations. They are bilateral, personal, and direct. Examples include expressions between lovers, conversations between a father and daughter, and between deep, personal friends. Divinity falls into this mix. It is easy to think that Divine conversations are generic. I do not hear my Divine conversation that way. One writer’s question lingers as a reminder; “Did he [Divinity] ever say anything like this to an angel? Sit alongside me here on my throne until I make your enemies a stool for your feet.” (Hebrews 1.13)
My conversations are spoken in the language of my heart. They are not always pretty. Darkness, fear, and selfishness show up on occasion. My prayer today is that my words and conversations are wrapped in compassion and understanding. I can be clear and kind. I can be direct and caring. I can give others what Divinity gives me.
