head down and write

My son has a make-up writing test today.

He had some trouble with it yesterday. I told him that when he gets distracted he needs to just keep his head down and write.

It's pretty good advice.

There is nothing harder than to write when you don't feel like writing. There are no words, nothing seems interesting, no new insight exists, but still....you must write.

Many authors talk about the tenacity, the persistence as the quality that really separates known writers from absent ones. While I have little desire to be known, I do have a desire to be excellent.

I saw this documentary about a photographer recently who was completely unknown until after she died and all her work come out, by chance. She was amazing and her quality and quantity of work, inspired. But she didn't ever care about anyone knowing. She loved to take pictures. She just really loved it.

And I think about writing that way because there are so many moments when I don't love it, I don't feel like doing it. It is work, it is tedium. Do I love it?

I don't know.
I just know that for now, I am going to keep my head down.
And write.

For give

I hang on to things I probably should not.

There are letters and items of clothing and movie stubs that I really should throw out the window, out the door, down the hatch, but I don’t. I hang on.

I hang on because they remind me of a past event. They are memorials. And memorials are good, or they can be good. We remember birthdays and holidays, we celebrate anniversaries and graduations. We keep our kid’s first shoes and the notes our husbands wrote us when they were only young boys. We remember these moments because they fill up the well of our identity, our family, our purpose.

But I will sometimes hang on to other things. I will keep the letters my husband and I exchanged when we were contemplating divorce. I will keep the fat clothes hanging in my closet though I have lost the weight. I will stumble upon found pictures of people in my life who are long gone, whose absence I still lament (hello, Facebook). And while that can be okay, too, these memorials can also stir up trouble. It’s like I want a “Just in case….” Just in case, I want to remember how bad it all felt, or how wronged I was…. Just in case, I am having a bad day and need to feel sorry for myself…. Just in case, I am not getting the love I want or need or deserve…

These things breed re-unforgiveness (just because it isn’t a word, doesn’t mean it shouldn’t be a word).  And, as Christians, we are in the business of forgiveness. It’s one of our big things. I used to think that once you forgave, it was done. White as snow. After all, that’s how God does it, so that is how we are to do it. And it is The Call. Right? Unfortunately, because we are lacking the divine nature of our Lord, it doesn’t quite work that way for us humans. I now understand that forgiveness is a journey and a relationship. It is a path that, like any other, can lead to sin or can lead to freedom.

And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. And do not lead us into temptation, but deliver us from evil. . . . For if you forgive others for their transgressions, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. But if you do not forgive others, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions. (Matthew 6:12-15, NASB)

When you are wronged, the forgiving seems to need to happen every minute, if you even feel like you can forgive. And then it happens every day, and then every week, and eventually a year goes by and you find that you haven’t had to forgive for months. I still find myself forgiving for things so far in the past, I barely can remember the details; I just remember the hurt.

And that is what we have to be careful of storing and keeping and packaging and tucking away. The hurt.

Garage sales are great because, as hard as it is to get rid of some of your most precious stuff, it feels amazing when it is all gone. It feels light and easy and freeing. It feels like an easy yoke. And the funny part is that the stuff of our heart is the same as the stuff of our lives, it accumulates whether we want it to or not. It just piles up.

Our job is to throw it out. Get rid of it. Release those feelings of hurt.

I want to remember what our marriage has come through and endured with the grace of God to help us. I want to see the growth of my life to who I am today. I want to praise God for miracle after miracle of redemption, but I cannot go back to the same dark places all the time and lament the loss.  We must press into forgiveness.

Forgive more.  It is what He told us to do.

Don’t allow yourself to be abused, but ask your Heavenly Father for help with forgiving. Forgive your spouse and ask him to forgive you. And then tomorrow forgive him again.  For all the things, for the little things, for the big things. Forgive yourself so that you can be loved by your husband.

And then forgive yourself again tomorrow.

We not called to be punching bags, but we are called to forgive. We are not called to withhold the truth, but to speak it out, to ‘speak with wisdom and faithful instruction.’ We ARE called to release our hurt to a better Judge and we are called to FORGIVE.

As many times as it takes us to get it right. 

These days I have to fight for quiet and peace for my soul.

I suppose that is a pattern that humans have been practicing for hundreds, if not, thousands of years. Fight. For peace.

This is something that my atheist, liberal, borderline Socialist co-worker and friend does not understand. She understands peace, of course. But she would completely eschew fighting as a necessary path to peace.

She and her husband quietly separated when things got hard. They still haven't gotten around to the divorcing. Meanwhile for the past twenty years, they both date and live on opposite continents while their daughters become grown women. It is a mistake in thinking that the path of least resistance is synonymous with peace. It is not.

Peace is what comes after you have forged a path. Peace is not happenstance. It is labor and delivery. It is making something holy. It is setting something apart from the nature of this world and dedicating it to the nature of Another world. It is deliberate and it requires sweat and marrow and sacrifices.

The deepest peace in my marriage comes from those places where we have bled.
The most quiet and careful of my writing and my restoration comes when I finish all my chores, get the kids to bed the way they need, clean up my house, love my husband recklessly and seek the wisdom of some Words. If I get distracted, if I rest for a even moment, my peace will be snatched up by the busyness of this life, it will be stolen by the needs of my family, it will be swallowed by the quickening sun, my graying hairs, the growth of all my weeds.

I own my peace. It was given to me as a Gift.
And I fight for it.
I protect it.
I nurture it.