Words – Can’t Live With Them, Can’t Live Without Them
When I was in college, my living quarters were the cleanest they had ever been. My correspondence was up to date. I tried new recipes often. My Cockatiel, Limerick, was proficient at his songs and he gave me endless joy. I did anything but homework. After forty years of post-college life, my impulse control required to stay with a project is regrettably not much better now than then.
I am exploring the art of writing. I imagine myself sequestered in a shed overlooking a wild river and gushing thousands of words into my laptop crafting essays, memoirs, and journals. Writing is difficult and takes discipline and tenacity. I’ve read that writing does not come easily even to the pros—Anne Lamott or Annie Dillard—authors I respect and admire share their struggles with the craft. Just like in my college days, I allow distraction into my life in small doses—a book, a walk, a coffee date, a trip to Latvia perhaps—while I wait for the words to come.
When I bought an accounting practice many years ago, I took over the office of my predecessor. It was in a brick “L” shaped building along Hill Street and Greeley Avenue in downtown Bend. We affectionately called it the “pizza oven” due to its lack of air conditioning. When not doing tax returns and financial statements I tended to my favorite task: correspondence. I followed in the fashion of my dad, waxing eloquently about why rent should be paid on time; payroll taxes must be delivered to the proper authorities; or a personal residence could be converted to rental property to write off the loss sustained in an unfortunate downturn.
After only a few years I moved my office around the corner to Oregon Street and eventually into a home office. These days I still enjoy communicating in written form. Today it is mostly conveyed over email. My barrage of words often badgers unsuspecting recipients. They must sift through the paragraphs looking for useful information. I suspect some give up, dead soldiers littering the path of readers doing their best to fight the good fight.
In her book Walking on Water, Madeleine L’Engle discloses her opinion on God’s gifting to each of us. We are encouraged to believe, celebrate, and create because we are all image-bearers of the Creator. Do you feel that little bird trapped inside you, yearning to fly free and use the gifts given to you to make music, paint, weave baskets, knit words? I do. We rejoice with you when we see, hear, taste, smell, and touch the mysterious gifts that come from inside you. It is a beautiful revelation to see how God uses you and me.
If God shines through us in this curious way, why doesn’t he blast us with his luminous power, spray us with the firehose of His wonder and power, and force his mighty sparkle through our fingertips like Spiderman with webs of superhero skill? I sit addressing the laptop, fingers poised over the keyboard, and wait. And wait. And wait. I lift up my eyes to the mountains—where does my inspiration come from? My inspiration comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth. It comes from the One to whom one day is as a thousand years and a thousand years as one day. Oh boy.
I am patiently waiting for my craft to develop. It is fun to take workshops, go to exotic places for writing retreats, read composition books, and meet with other authors. I had in mind to say something about God that was profound, deliver an earth-shattering message no one has written yet, or rivet you to the chair with my fascinating life stories, but I’m over it now. Just for today, I am satisfied to write an essay and bring you on my journey of discovery for what God would say through me.
Meanwhile, I am practicing an Eskimo word I recently learned that describes a long wait, prepared for a sudden event: quinuituq. It means deep patience. I don’t know what I want to say, but I am sure ready to say it! When (if) the inspiration comes, I will summon the faculty of my resolve to write, and try not to indulge the impulse of my cozy pet, Procrastination. Now I know, inspiration is like a Bonta two-scoop cone. You must enjoy it before it melts away.