On Inspiration
Thom Satterlee Like some grand migration of birds, the words came and settled on my page. Then, when I looked up, a dove perched on my windowsill. I nodded to it awkwardly and watched it fly away. All day I felt too afraid to read what I had written. When the ink dried I hid the page beneath other pages, believing that if I were right pride would make it impossible to write again, and if I were wrongshame would do the same. ~~~~~ From Burning Wycliff, copyright 2006 Thom Satterlee: reprinted with permission from Texas Tech University Press. ~~~~~ Next: Wycliff Becomes an Instrument of the Spirit |