I’ve just returned from Maui—my go to place for non-stop writing, punctuated by midnight swims, early morning hot tubs, and fresh pineapple on the beach watching the first bold rays of the sun. Maui was my gift to myself, and to Sacrificial Basins, book 3 in my Murder with a Message series.
Maui inspires me, and my writing is richer after time spent in her presence. My captivating muse always has me glued to the ocean like a hapless teenager, really noticing boys for the first time. Only the objects of my affection here are the waves, and the whales. Great big, beautiful whales. Breaching in brassy, macho displays. Flapping their tails to a beat I fancy I can feel, but cannot hear.
Whales. Every morning, every evening. From my balcony sipping green ginger tea. From my beach chair, lying still in the sun after a good brisk swim. From the ocean where I dip down deep in the midst of a breathtaking snorkeling adventure, to listen to their eerie underwater love calls. From the sand, basking in the warmth of this good earth, ocean breezes cooling the sun enough to lightly kiss my skin. Whales. Teasing me to self-kindness in my solitude—not my natural inclination. I am glad.
And in this unexpected solitude, I find God. Or He finds me. Or we find each other. And I smile. And I am grateful for this season of solitude and wonder, where I was led to do some of my deepest reflection, and precious little else. And any writer knows that doing nothing at all can lead to deep, rich writing—it has for me, and I am grateful. God has met me in His word, in His Spirit, in this paradise, and I am glad.
In this season of holiday solitude, He has gifted me with His presence, His healing in areas I didn’t know were in need of His touch. And I am grateful.
He has restored me to full health. As a writer, as His woman. As one who notices birds fallen from their nests, snails inching along hot pavement without a shell, whales belting out their ocean love songs. Selah.
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