Jenny Knipfer–Author

Historical fiction author, Jenny Knipfer, shares her books, inspiration, thoughts on life and writing, and book reviews. Purchase Jenny's books, read her blog, or listen to encouraging podcasts, highlighting the life of a writer.

Writing:

Normally, I have my blog posts drafted  the night before, but yesterday I couldn’t think of what to write about or why you might want to read my words. In short I felt uninspired. This morning I’m simply writing. Me, my iPad, and my left index finger, tapping out my thoughts. 

I’ve gotten ready for the day, which exhausted me as usual. Now, I sit in my recliner with several layers of blankets on, a pillow on my lap with my iPad propped atop it, the citrusy scent of evergreens in the air—we have our Christmas tree up and decorated—, and a steaming mug of tea at the ready. My choice of tea this morning—-Christmas in Paris, by Stash. It’s delightful and aptly named.

Morning Light:

The morning light slants in an east window near my chair, highlighting a ruby-colored candy dish, making it gleam a bright pink. How different things appear in bright light. It makes me wonder how I’d look under such circumstances. No doubt all my physical bumps and lumps would stand out, but what about who I am on the inside? Would the light reveal my grubby little corners, where the cobwebs of neglect and the dust bunnies of acquired, unhealthy choices have accumulated? Most likely. 

Light and Identity:

There’s no hiding in the light. No shrouding your faults with glad rags. But I’m thankful that with God stepping into the light doesn’t manufacture fear, rather the reverse. At times in my life, I’ve felt that warm light of God’s presence, grafting me to the brightness of himself. It’s not always a painless process, but it’s safe and worth it. 

I feel in need of more grafting, more light this year. I’m facing a black hole where everything I know to be me seems to be sucked into. I firmly believe that my identity as a person can never be taken away by physical disability or even cognitive disjunction. My spirit is still the same. I am a child of God, loved by Him and gifted to do good works in His name, but some days fear floods my eyes with tears and my mouth with frustration at how difficult basic life has become. 

Difficulties: 

I’m struggling to get dressed by myself and manage some aspects of self-care, to say nothing of the household tasks I can no longer perform or barely perform. I can’t be that woman taking care of my family in physical ways anymore. That saddens me and leaves me wondering if what little I have to offer is enough. 

Perhaps that’s where you’re at, in some respects. Maybe life has taken some part of who you were/are away. But I want to believe with you that—your loss doesn’t have to define you

Sit in the Sun:

Take some time to sit in the sun today and reflect on the core of who you are. When the light enters and exposes those wounds, those parts of you which no longer function or have changed, look to what remains. I hope you can see God in the center, holding your identity as His creation in His hand, where nothing can taint or scrape your name in His eyes.

That’s where I want to be this morning. I choose to step out of the shadows and bask in The Light, who has come to be Emmanuel, God with us. 

Blessings, My Friends:

May the light of His love brighten your day today.


By the Light of the Moon Series:

If you have a reader on your Christmas list, you can purchase the whole set for under $52.00 for paperbacks and under $14.00 on Kindle. Or treat yourself to a little moonlight reading.


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7 thoughts on “Morning Light

  1. Judy Abel says:

    This is beautiful my dear friend!! Love!!!

    1. Thanks, Judy. I’m grateful for a fellow traveler who can relate. 🙂 I hope you and your family are doing well.

  2. etikser says:

    Your writing is lovely, I think, even when it talks about struggles. I haven’t had a live trees in a number of years, and I miss that scent.

    1. Thanks so much for reading my thoughts.:) I love that woodsy scent. It reminds me of my home as a child and going out with my dad to cut an evergreen in our woods each year for our Christmas tree.

      1. etikser says:

        A precious memory to keep.

  3. Lisa says:

    For more than one reason, your words brought tears to my eyes this morning. I’m glad for the sunshine today. Thanks for sharing your message of hope. I love you, my sister, my friend. Lisa

    1. I’m glad my struck a cord, in a good way. 🥰 Love you too!

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