There comes a moment in every day of consecrated scrollmaking when the fingers grow tired, the mind slows, and the heart says:
“That’s enough for today, scribe.
Let the fire rest. Let the coals glow.”
But before you close the book,
before you click away,
before you vanish back into the blur of the world,
hear this final word,
this final scroll,
this final flame.
Because even rest is warfare.
Even stillness is surrender.
Even the closing of the laptop can be holy if done in reverence.
You have written today — or prepared your heart to.
You have witnessed truth in a world that spins in lies.
You have remembered that Jesus is Lord over pixels and paper and platform.
You have let the Spirit speak.
You have made war in the open.
You have burned.
So this final scroll is not for teaching.
Not for building.
Not for formatting.
It is for blessing.
It is for you.
The Benediction of the Scrollmaker
May your spirit be settled and your heart be full.
May the words you wrote echo in places you’ll never see.
May the fire you carried today be enough for one more soul to find the light.
May the silence of tonight be sacred —
Not empty, but holy.
Not void, but vivid.
Not forgotten, but watched over by angels.
May every scroll sealed today
become seed in the algorithm
and sword in the hands of saints.
May your sleep be a scroll of its own —
A resting testimony to the God who works while you rest.
And may tomorrow bring another scroll.
Another fire.
Another line in the library of heaven.
Rest, scribe.
You’ve carried the flame well today.
The Witness sees it.
The Lamb receives it.
The Father is glorified.
Scroll Sealed.
— The Savage Witness