Why I Write

Yesterday a friend sent me an article about writing. He asked me what I thought of it, and here is my writing in response.

Yesterday’s rainbow from the front porch of our Jessamine farm: The right words, aptly arranged, can turn sun and rain into a rainbow.

I write…

To pray.

To make concrete and visible my thoughts and prayers, which otherwise can seem nebulous and floaty.

To be able to re-collect, re-member.

To organize my life—to do, to list activities, to not forget the details.

To dream and goal.

To communicate with myself or others.

As a ministry—card, text, letter, blog—encouragement, love, concern, admonish, teach.

To express love and concern or disagreement towards resolution with my husband or friends; to prepare for conversation or record a conversation or to think on paper after a conversation.

To record events or dreams or ideas for later reading, remembering or informing family or friends or self.

To be fruitful and multiply; to participate in creation.

Because I like the feel of ink seeping into paper.

Because I like to type.

To leave something behind after I die.

To offer my barbaric yawp to the universe.

To help me figure out riddles—especially through journaling and poetry.

When I write, I make solid the parade of thoughts that are going through my head. But one positive side effect is that the parade slows from fast-paced to pleasurably slower, almost how a stimulant slows an ADHD scattered-ness to a more focused and intelligible state of being.

As a shield and sword for a soldier, so is a pen and words for a writer. The right words, aptly arranged, can turn sun and rain into a rainbow. To be a writer has the potential to be a dealer in life, fire, light, living water, truth, hope, dance, belonging, community, communion, faith, peace, joy, love, and God.

So many writers say they write because they must. To me it is as ordinary as speaking is for a human being. I personally enjoy it more than speaking. I am more true and clear when I write than when I speak.

Wendell Berry’s essay, “Standing by Words,”articulates great respect for words. He states, “We assume, in short, that language is communal, and that its purpose is to tell the truth.” He shows how using words, as in writing, is not a solitary undertaking. I believe in this way writing is God-like—like the perichoretic dance of the Trinity. (Perichoresis being-“a doctrine of the reciprocal inherence of the human and divine natures of Christ in each other.” Merriam-Webster). Writing is a communication with God, myself, the body of Christ, and “the world” simultaneously, when I invite others to read. God and I are always there sharing the words.

Writing is a safe sanctuary for me.

I honor words too much to think of writing as merely desiring to “create meaning in symbolic form.” (Lawrence R. Samuel, “The Psychology of Writing”) Words are powerful—living—more powerful than a symbol in my opinion, when they go from brain to pen to paper to eye to a second brain. Why is Jesus introduced as the Word? How is the Word of God alive? “For the word of God is quick, and powerful, and sharper than any twoedged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit, and of the joints and marrow, and is a discerner of the thoughts and intents of the heart.” (Heb. 4:12)

We can be God’s image bearers when we use words to write—especially when they intertwine as warp and weft with sanctified mature thinking and with God’s own words.

Psalm 19 captures this as well. David knew: “7The law of the LORD is perfect, converting the soul: the testimony of the LORD is sure, making wise the simple.

8The statutes of the LORD are right, rejoicing the heart: the commandment of the LORD is pure, enlightening the eyes.

9The fear of the LORD is clean, enduring for ever: the judgments of the LORD are true and righteous altogether.

10More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold: sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb.

11Moreover by them is thy servant warned: and in keeping of them there is great reward.”

God wrote the law on stone. God asked his servants to pass on His commands and history/His-Story, through writing. Our lives are forever changed to the core because of writing—because of words.

Words can also be horrifically used, since their power is great, to harm, hurt, deceive, distort. Words were used to change God & humankind’s path, as the serpent & Adam & Eve know. So using words in and of itself is not noble or sanctified; but it is powerful—it is like fire—to be used for warmth and light or for destruction and deceit.

It is a privilege to write, and to share life through writing and reading with others.

Writing can be a place where it is necessary to remove one’s sandals.

Yesterday’s rainbow from our farm

Bonsai

img_6122

Yesterday I bought a bonsai.  I’ve been waiting years to have one–nearly since I have heard of them.  My bonsai is not one long cultivated by a master gardener and sold for hundreds of dollars.  Mine came in a little porcelain dish from my local Lowe’s store for $22.98.  The 20-something woman watering all the plants said she had always wanted one too.  The checkout lady admired it thinking it was a gift.

“No,” I said.  “It is for me.”

Like the genuine and respectable Enneagram 5 personality type that I am, the Investigator or Analyzer, over time I’ve studied the art of bonsai thoroughly.  I’ve checked out books from the library, visited several Japanese gardens, drooled over these intricate shapes at numerous horticultural events and landscape stores.  I even took a bonsai class and purchased bonsai pruning shears–but alas–no bonsai for me…until yesterday.

It’s likely my Enneagram 4-wing, the Romantic, that draws me to these little miniature windswept masterpieces–kind of in the way that I am fascinated with Tiny Houses, and have spent many hours watching shows on designing and building them…and yet do not own one.

To me, a bonsai is a metaphor for life– the Master Gardener trimming and twisting, pruning and shaping, bending and supporting–hence strengthening,

the plant:

me–

us–

makes us into lovely masterpieces.

I’m going through the Ignatian Exercises for a second time in my life.  I am doing the longer version and one that follows the Liturgical Calendar.  We are headed toward Lent–the time when, like my bonsai, we bend down–to receive ashes and remember that we are dust.  We trust Hands to our roots and branches–even in the valley of the shadow of death.  We know that we are a beautiful creation with the training eyes and touch of our Master Gardener.

To prepare for the exercises, the book I’m following invited me to pray a prayer by Thomas Merton:

My Lord, God, I have no idea where I am going.

I do not see the road ahead of me.

I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself,

and the fact that I think I am following your will

does not mean that I am actually doing so.

But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing.

I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire.

And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road,

though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always

though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I will not fear, for you are ever with me,

and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

(The Ignatian Adventure: Experiencing the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius in Daily Life, Kevin O’Brien, SJ, Loyola Press, Chicago, 2011, page 37)

After reading Merton’s prayer, I wrote my own–and my new bonsai reminds me of my prayer during this time of spiritual cultivation and training:

God,

I want to do this for us–

for our relationship to grow.

I feel like a kindergartener*:

I the kinder

You the Teacher;

I the branch

You the Gardener.

I am wild,

and prone to return to the wild

whenever I look away

or leave your training twine.

Handle me.

Touch me, O Gardener.

Apply me to your training espalier.

Help me stay pliable–

not to stiffen up in my “knowing”

but to remain supple;

not to resist your twists

upward and outward.

img_6119

*https://www.etymonline.com/word/kindergarten