Poetry & Words, Theology

Because I Await Redemption

I write because I await redemption.Everyone has an opinion about blogging. Thirteen years ago, when I started writing online — we called it web journaling then — people didn’t have as much of an opinion.

But now, everyone is an expert: Write more about struggles, so you can be transparent. Don’t write too much about struggles, so you won’t be depressing. Take more pictures of reality, so you don’t deceive your readers. Don’t take too many pictures of reality, because that’s just not artistic. Write more about the good, because you should be uplifting. Don’t write too much about the good, because that’s not reality.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned after thirteen years of blogging, is that I can’t please everyone. Actually, I can’t please very many people at all. And if I wrote these words in this little space to please people, what a sorry endeavor it would be.

Sometimes I write about beauty, and sometimes I write about brokenness.

Sometimes I write about hope, and sometimes I write about death.

Sometimes, I write about joy.

And sometimes, I write about all of those things — all together, all twisted up and tangled together — because really, isn’t that what life is? A bittersweet mixture of all that is good and all that is evil and all that is Hope and all that is Him and all that has been buried and planted and is yet to blossom, “pressed down, shaken together and running over” [1], awaiting redemption?

I write because I await redemption.

I write because God gave us beauty. Sometimes that beauty is so searingly bright, we can’t even humanly handle the sheer weight of glory. Sometimes that beauty is a promise, seen only through a glass dimly [2], through clouded tears. But always, there is beauty, because always, God is in our midst.

And that is enough to raise your thoughts to what may happen when the redeemed soul, beyond all hope and nearly beyond belief, learns at last that she has pleased Him whom she was created to please. There will be no room for vanity then. She will be free from the miserable illusion that it is her doing. With no taint of what we should now call self-approval she will most innocently rejoice in the thing that God has made her to be, and the moment which heals her old inferiority complex forever will also drown her pride… Perfect humility dispenses with modesty.” -C.S. Lewis

Inspiration, Life in Photos, Poetry & Words, Theology

I write because

I write, sometimes, because of things I see and hear,
and other times, I write because the sound is muffled and my vision is blurred,
but mostly, I write because (the veil is still there,
the glass is still dim,
He has not yet come)
and I want to see clearly.

It's the world as best as I remember it
I write because...

“Can a man see God face to face and live?

Can I not see an eclipse better through a pinhole in a paper than without it?

We can’t so much see light as we can see things because of it. So I do not meet God in a vacuum — I meet Him in the world He has provided for me to meet Him in — in a world of events and of places, of history (time and space), in a world of lives of people and their records of their encounters.

I meet God in this world — in the world of these things…

…and this is the world as best as I can remember it.”
-Rich Mullins

Poetry & Words

WRITING & WORDS :: Recurring dreams of minor chords :: Rediscovering the reason I write

Sometimes it’s hard to remember how much I need words, until the words of someone who knows how to paint and bend and pull letters into life reminds me. And it’s then, inside the pages of a master wordsmith, that I remember —

Remember that I’ve forgotten what it is to pick up a pen with no purpose other than to let the words untangle themselves. I’ve forgotten what it is to write with no other purpose than to set words free from the confines of my own mind. It used to only take the first scratch of pen against the paper fibers, and the words would begin to flow. As my fingers moved in fluid curves across the page, the words would run up and down the lines, and I would watch as they wrapped around the corners, into the margins, pressed up against the edges, free.

Once upon a time, I wrote as if no one would read it, wrote as if there were no such things as blogs and stats and page views. I wrote without second-guessing my words, wrote without considering my audience (there was none!), wrote without fear. And the words brought joy.

“Oh now the roots are reminiscing
Recurring dreams of minor chords
Metred time
Muted chimes find the beat

And in the pulse there lies conviction
A steady push and pull routine
The cymbals swell
High notes flail into reach.” -Maria Taylor, Song Beneath the Song

Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s time to let the words free again.

“[Writing] is… a kind of leaving of notes for another to find, and a willingness to have them fall into the wrong hands.” –Matthew Hollis

I’m willing.

These are my notes.