A friend told me recently that she has "lived in poetry for forty years." That struck me. How do you live "in" poetry? Since then, I have realized what she meant. Giving myself permission to be what I was meant to be -- and to do it with my whole heart -- I have found myself buoyed by my chosen craft of writing. It's not something I do; it's something I am. I feel that I have walked into a house and, finding myself at home, have no desire to leave.
So how is this different from all the writing I have done over the years? Well, first of all, I always had such guilt about allowing myself to indulge in my "hobby," feeling that it took away from my primary duties. Besides, if it gave me such pleasure, it couldn't be a good thing, could it? I have since rejected all of that. I think of the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30). Most people who wander in here know this story already, but for the sake of those who may not, I'll tell an abbreviated version here:
A wealthy man went on a journey and left his money in the care of three servants. To one, he gave five coins, to another two, and to another one. He was thrilled when he returned and found that the first two servants had put his money to use and doubled it. However, he was annoyed (to put it lightly) when he found out that the third servant had done nothing with his money. In fact, he had buried it in the ground.
"Why did you do that?" the man asked. "You could have at least put it in the bank where it would have drawn interest!"
The servant replied (basically), "I was afraid of you."
That has been my theme song my whole life to date -- fear. I have buried my coin in a hole in the ground out of fear. Nothing more, nothing less. I have always felt that it is impossible to please God, so the best thing I can do is keep as quiet as possible and stay out of his way. I'm realizing how incredibly wrong I've had it all along. I have realized that God sees me as I see my children-- as a work in process. Off of my kitchen, I have three doors. One leads to the garage, one to the bathroom, and one to the pantry/game closet. Each of the kids has a door where I hang up their art work, awards, etc. Kaitlyn's work is by far the most sophisticated, but does that mean I think she is a better person for being able to draw a portrait or write a poem while Brendan's door is covered with stick figures and blocky letters, scratched on the page? No! I am equally thrilled with Brendan's efforts because he is doing the best he can for the stage that he is at. That's all God asks of us. THAT'S ALL!
I have to be honest with you though. There has been another aspect to my hesitation to pour myself into my writing. I know from far too much experience that the Christian community is not kind to those who color outside the lines. I have been only minimally effective in my writing (and my life) because I was trying so hard to stay within the lines. The stories in my head, however, are not pretty. They don't fit on a coloring book page, neat pink and blue pastels creating a soothing picture for the viewer. No, the pictures in my head are blood red and charcoal black -- and they don't fit inside the lines. I know what's coming. I know all too well. But I cannot keep the pictures inside anymore.
Thoughts of the prophets console me. They spoke the truth, in no uncertain terms, and they were often misunderstood and rejected. And yet they stood their ground, regardless of the personal consequences. And truth prevailed. May God grant that it be so with me.
So how is this different from all the writing I have done over the years? Well, first of all, I always had such guilt about allowing myself to indulge in my "hobby," feeling that it took away from my primary duties. Besides, if it gave me such pleasure, it couldn't be a good thing, could it? I have since rejected all of that. I think of the parable of the talents (Matthew 25:14-30). Most people who wander in here know this story already, but for the sake of those who may not, I'll tell an abbreviated version here:
A wealthy man went on a journey and left his money in the care of three servants. To one, he gave five coins, to another two, and to another one. He was thrilled when he returned and found that the first two servants had put his money to use and doubled it. However, he was annoyed (to put it lightly) when he found out that the third servant had done nothing with his money. In fact, he had buried it in the ground.
"Why did you do that?" the man asked. "You could have at least put it in the bank where it would have drawn interest!"
The servant replied (basically), "I was afraid of you."
That has been my theme song my whole life to date -- fear. I have buried my coin in a hole in the ground out of fear. Nothing more, nothing less. I have always felt that it is impossible to please God, so the best thing I can do is keep as quiet as possible and stay out of his way. I'm realizing how incredibly wrong I've had it all along. I have realized that God sees me as I see my children-- as a work in process. Off of my kitchen, I have three doors. One leads to the garage, one to the bathroom, and one to the pantry/game closet. Each of the kids has a door where I hang up their art work, awards, etc. Kaitlyn's work is by far the most sophisticated, but does that mean I think she is a better person for being able to draw a portrait or write a poem while Brendan's door is covered with stick figures and blocky letters, scratched on the page? No! I am equally thrilled with Brendan's efforts because he is doing the best he can for the stage that he is at. That's all God asks of us. THAT'S ALL!
I have to be honest with you though. There has been another aspect to my hesitation to pour myself into my writing. I know from far too much experience that the Christian community is not kind to those who color outside the lines. I have been only minimally effective in my writing (and my life) because I was trying so hard to stay within the lines. The stories in my head, however, are not pretty. They don't fit on a coloring book page, neat pink and blue pastels creating a soothing picture for the viewer. No, the pictures in my head are blood red and charcoal black -- and they don't fit inside the lines. I know what's coming. I know all too well. But I cannot keep the pictures inside anymore.
Thoughts of the prophets console me. They spoke the truth, in no uncertain terms, and they were often misunderstood and rejected. And yet they stood their ground, regardless of the personal consequences. And truth prevailed. May God grant that it be so with me.
1 comment:
You are continuing to amaze me! Each time I read your blog, I feel like you're reaching down further and further. Isn't it exciting to know that you're digging deep? That's something that doesn't come easily to me. In fact, you're inspiring. I totally agree about the Christian hindrances. I hope, in your pursuit of truth for you, that you find encouragement from those surrounding you.
Leslie
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