Mount Hermon Musing

A sapphire crested jay swooped beneath fern tendrils curling upward from the white-sanded stream chuckling between playful azaleas and solemn redwoods (Sorry, I think I absorbed too many writer hormones.) But really, this was the setting as I strolled away from another A+ meal in the dining hall toward the next hour of expert instruction on writing. Delicious food, paradisiacal surroundings, exhilarating worship, charming new friends, mind opening discussions, soul cleansing laughs (thank you keynote speaker, Liz Curtis Higgs)—what is not to like about the annual Mount Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference?

I’d never been before. But when I heard it is THE premier writer’s conference in the world, and would provide an opportunity to be in the same space and time with those elusive editors and publishers, I knew I had to go. If for nothing else, I wanted to see firsthand who sends out all those rejection letters.

Did you know standards have changed to one space between sentences? Did you know MS Word will rate your writing for reader grade level? Did you know to write depreciating words about yourself while promoting others? These and a hundred other critical tid bits were added to my knowledge base. But by far, the most life-changing lesson did not come in the classroom, or general secessions, or even during my prayer times. It came in a conversation with an insightful writer named Sarah.

A friend and I caught Sarah as she was returning from a walk through the woods. Her eyes were alive with a fresh touch from God. She painted the encounter for us, “Away from the beaten path I discovered a flower growing on the forest floor. The pristine white petals arrested my feet from going further. The thing was like a newborn child in its fragile perfection. An awareness stole over me that no other human was likely to see this wonder before it passed from the Earth.”

Sarah was clearly on a roll so we let her continue to effervesce, “I pondered how many other white beauties must be scattered through the woods that no human would ever enjoy. Yet their glory and purpose for existence is not diminished one iota. God created each floral masterpiece for His pleasure and delight. The Audience of One sees them and beams His approval. That is the best reason for existence, bar none.”

Knowing Sarah’s ability to recognize lessons from the Lord, my mind was busy formulating the analogy she was heading for. I glimpsed such a perfect message that, as she continued, I enthusiastically hoped for confirmation of my vague guess.

“When we write, it is nice if humans can be moved by the product, but the real reason for writing is to create a pristine flower for God alone. He sees every piece, even those no human eye will ever behold. If it blesses God, the best and highest purpose for writing has been fulfilled.”

That musing became my spiritual cud for the rest of the conference. I chewed it over and over. I even burped it up for other conferees to enjoy (okay, enough with that metaphor). God confirmed the exact message through several of the speakers. I came away from Mount Hermon enriched in so many ways, but even if everything else was removed—if the conference had been held in moldy refrigerator boxes where cockroaches fled from rancid gruel served among surly destitutes while half wits droned through soggy lessons—if I received that one white flower lesson, I would be eternally grateful.