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.
I find myself praying today for a friend’s imminent childbirth. Giving birth is such a thin place, where we join in creation and fall simultaneously. It’s a miraculous space: liminal—in-between. The father, mother, and child, pass through a limen—a doorway—from unknown to known and from known to unknown. There is a change in “I am-ness” to each participant—even for every sibling and every grandparent.
When my first grandchild was born, I stood at the head of the bed and experienced the miracle unfolding. I saw my dear daughter rock in pain with contractions and reach in joy for her new writhing, crying, little human-gift. I observed the furrowed brow, outstretched hand, and deep concern of my son-in-law at bedside; then the outrageous excitement of seeing the emergence from dark to light of his firstborn, Hazel—with a holy hush followed by one last push.
When my second grandchild, Julian, was born, I stayed at home with Hazel. It was a different kind of vigil—from far away. It was hard not being present and I was grateful to God and His sure presence with me and with my daughter simultaneously, and His constant bent-ear, listening for our intercessions and supplications. I wrestled with the thought that my daughter would need to struggle with pain, maybe blood, and difficulty for this birth, and I recalled the reason that the Bible gives to aid in answering all, no, most, of my questions.
The night before Julian’s entrance, I birthed the following thoughts. I pray they might help you or your loved one in grappling with, and entering past the veil into, this angel-filled, Trinity-immersed, Cloud of unknowing which we encounter at the emergence of every new life…if we have eyes to see.
Julian’s Exodus
And now
As we turn toward this event
This liminal passage—
A new life liminal passage—
We remember that You Lord, are a Parent
A Father and “Mother” to a boy, Adam and girl, Eve
Formed long ago in the womb of your garden,
“born” into your household.
And even before that
(really not before, but always)
Your only Son—begotten, not made—of one Being with You.
But there came a fall—
Jack and Jill tumbled
And pain in childbirth came,
Not the original plan,
But a consequence.
So now we embark on a new in-between space
One that, despite our knowledge and advancements, will likely bring some
Pain
Squeezing
Peril
Need
Perhaps groaning.
“Like the pains of childbirth,” we often say:
A groaning of earth in an Eve-like form.
We come here through remembering also that you overshadowed blessed Mary—
Dripping in Eve-ness—
To bring hope and healing
To bring back full joy and to ease the pain of Eden’s losses.
You sent shepherds and wise men for the baby shower.
You watched as the wet, crying and cooing boy emerged from the nine-month hiddenness.
You sent angels to say,
“Do not be afraid!”
You said, “My peace I give to you.”
And, “I will never leave you or forsake you.”
And so we pray to You—
Who are a Father
And a Son
And have a maternal heart
And are a great Physician
And a Summoner of angels.
We look to You
To bring the Light –Da la Luz!
Of Your presence
Your face
Your touch
Your attention.
We ask for safety for all during labor and journey through the underwater tangles, the unknown, the Red Sea’s partings, little Julian’s exodus into this world.
We look to You.
We trust in Your great love,
In Your deep knowing—conocimiento—that is owned by a Parent’s heart and soul and body.
In Your Son Jesus’, name,
Amen
[i] Jesus is the bridegroom and the church is His bride.
[ii] Many places in the Bible God is portrayed as having motherly affection and care:
God: “As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you; you shall be comforted in Jerusalem.” Is. 66:13
God: “Can a woman forget her nursing child, or show no compassion for the child of her womb? Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you.” Is. 49:15
God: “For a long time I have held my peace, I have kept myself still and restrained myself, now I will cry out like a woman in labor, I will gasp and pant.” Is. 42:14
Jesus said, “How often have I desired to gather your children together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings, and you were not willing.” Matt. 23:37 and Luke 13:34
Not all of us–the outsides stay whether they want to or not.
The insides stone up, wall up, shut down.
They’re like Addison…”What the…?” or less sophisticated, “Ouch!”
When or whether we reappear is up for grabs. Sometimes the healing necessitates, or dictates, staying inside the shell. Changing routine, changing bandages, changing hope–they all cost and our insides pay a high price–often more than what is in the wallet.
But God is there. And He has the extra we need. We need only ask…if we can keep from walling up on Him.
There are places, spaces, where it is easier to open to Him:
walking the woods or pasture,
standing near a mossy log,
counting dew drops on soft plant leaves,
revisiting a field full of memories,
smelling mist, hearing trees, admiring all He has made.
Our Jessamine Farm 