All Your Might

pinterest

I came across a quote today.  I was already familiar with it, and probably you are as well, but it sprang out at that moment because I happened to be thinking about working on projects I didn't want to be working on; I was, in fact, pretty actively procrastinating - if that is even possible.  So the quote was very pointed indeed.

whatever your hand finds to do, 

do it with all your might.

ecclesiastes 9:10

Granted, the Preacher was not exactly a cheery fellow; judging from the whole of Ecclesiastes, and from scholars' arguments in favor of Solomon being the author, it appears that he was a world-weary and perhaps God-starved man looking at life through jaded eyes.  His proverbs tend to be negative; the full verse quoted above reads, "Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the realm of the dead, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom."  Not particularly bright and sunshiny.  It sounds almost like Russian literature.

And yet it is nonetheless true, and for a much more glorious reason than the Preacher brought out.  Another quote sprang to mind as I read this one:

so, whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God.

first corinthians 10:31

The two verses mesh; they complement each other.  The Preacher, world-weary and God-starved as he may have been, was yet a wise man: it is true that whatever our hands find to do, we ought to do with all our might.  But not merely because we will eventually no longer be able to do it.  We put our might into these things for a greater reason; we have a higher goal, we march to a more joyful beat.  And that reason, that goal, that beat, is the glory of God.

It is not only our duty, but our greatest good and, we hope and pray, our greatest happiness to glorify God.  We were made to glorify Him.  What does the catechism say?  "Man's chief end is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever," or, as some would rephrase it, "...to glorify God by enjoying Him forever."  This is an ongoing, lifelong, daily process, worked out in our most common actions - in our praise and prayer and meditation, and also in our work and our rest.  I Corinthians and Ecclesiastes can be put together, I think, because whatever our hands find to do, we do it with all our might for the glory of God.  

Most of us on this block of the blogosphere are writers.  Some are published; some aren't.  Some are treated by acquaintances as though "writer" were synonymous with "lazy bum."  In this context, I don't think it really matters.  The point is that, no matter what stage of life we are in, no matter the praise or disapprobation of others, we must do what we do with all our might.  If we're putting our hand to this plow - to any plow - we aren't meant to look back.  To co-op a third and totally extra-biblical quote, we shouldn't know how to dabble in things we should be earnestly pursuing.  Perhaps "dabble" shouldn't be a word in the Christian's vocabulary at all.  Labor and perseverance, prayer and praise - those are words much better suited to us.

kudos if you know the reference of that third quote

A Dash of the Literary

Katie, over on her blog at Whisperings of the Pen, did a fun little post with recently-scribbled snippets from her stories. Then my sister Jenny picked it up and posted clips from her novels Adamantine (completed/being edited) and Plenilune (in progress). So, being unoriginal as I am, I decided to make off with the idea and give you readers a glimpse into what I have written and what I have been writing recently. (By the way, the first draft of The White Sail's Shaking bids fair to pass Wordcrafter in length by the end of the year!)

a sprinkling of words

The sky was cloudless and two large moons were already high in it, so that the garden was turned a faded grey and speckled by darker hollows. It was quiet except for the hum of the breeze running through the slats in the fence, and Justin sighed in relief as the door creaked shut at his back and he was separated from the warmth and turmoil within. But as he skirted the overgrown vines and bushes and drooping, frosty flowers to the rough hewn bench, his eye was caught by a motion on his right and he stiffened.

“Hallo,” said a female voice. She sat on the white fence post with her hands clasped between her knees, balancing precariously as she kicked her heels against the wood. She had no head-covering, so her hair, amber in the moonlight, was tousled and chaotic—part of her charm, Justin thought wryly. He moved nearer and she regarded him serenely.

“You’re getting bolder,” he remarked.

Wordcrafter

Ethan’s fist met the table with a crash that shuddered down its entire length and knocked over several goblets, sending wine and mead flooding across the wood and over the edge in waterfalls. There could not have been a man in the room who did not start, and the Gypsy-lord’s arms unfolded in a moment and he drew himself up; but the Hound had calmed himself with an effort and drew his hand off the table, exhaling slowly. “The Lord of the Cliffs will forgive me,” he said coldly, “if I find it difficult to be amused at what I am sure was not meant to be in earnest.”

Wordcrafter

I was very tired last night - tireder than I think I've ever been - but I was determined to get up early just to show Aiden that I'm not a shallow city girl. I had Miss Gwen get me up in the dark, and though my courage almost failed me as I peeked over the coverlet, I did not back down! I got up in the cold dark and I wrapped myself up in a sweater and wellies, and then I tramped down, had a bit of porridge for breakfast (yuck!), and went out to report for duty.

Sunshine and Gossamer


The glittering of the man’s eyes in his strange face, like the blinking of gems half buried in earth, unnerved Tip, and he took the words and that warning look to heart as he went inside. Unwanted, they said. Unwanted! A sensation of overwhelming friendlessness closed in on him when he shut the door of his own room and stood in the solitude, and he drew in a shuddering breath and brushed the heel of his hand across a cut on his forehead. “Never mind,” he murmured. “It doesn’t matter what they think. You’ll get by, Tip Brighton—you always do.”

The White Sail's Shaking

“Give them a shot across the bow, if you please,” Decatur said to the first lieutenant, with a touch of morbid humor. The order was relayed and a gun run out in Lewis’ division; spark touched vent and a white cloud burst upward as a cannon ball went singing smartly across the ketch’s bowsprit. A breathless silence ensued, and as the air cleared Tip could see the foreigners
heaving to.

The White Sail's Shaking

and a dash of words not my own

You do not make the truth. You reside in the truth. A suitable image for truth would be that of a lighthouse lashed by the elemental fury of undisciplined error. Those who have come to reside in the truth must stay there. It is not their business to go back into error for the purpose of joining their drowning fellows with the pretence that, inside or outside, the conditions are pretty much the same.

The Christian Mind, Harry Blamires

art by wagsomedog on flickr