Words and Cardboard Boxes

You might already know, but we’re moving.

Far.

Texas to Oregon.

                    Awesome prints like the one above, found here.

Two-thousand one-hundred thirty-eight point six seven miles, give or take.  

And this means piles of cardboard boxes and packing paper and clear plastic tape as far as the eyes can see.  It means busying myself in serious ways to avoid ruminating on the heartbreak at the end of this – which, of course, is always only just another beginning.  It means more time-outs with good friends and late night talks with stubborn teenagers and more heart-sharing from my mouth than from my fingertips, lately.

This is strange for me.

I’m not good with words.

Which is probably a contrary sort of thing for a writerish-type-person to say, but it’s the truth, and I have to wonder if I’m in good company. 

When I speak, in conversation, words fail me.  And I’m reminded of the quote: 

“The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.  ~Anaïs Nin”

And while Ms. Nin may not have had this in mind – I’m aware that, so often, I can pour my heart out to a blank page and post it into cyberspace with enthusiasm…

(and, by the way, I learned in my morning devotional today:                                  enthusiasm = en theos = “full of God”.
                                                                                                Love it.)

…but as I was saying… I can post my heart online for the world to see, but sometimes, I’m paralyzed by the fear of opening my lips, of pressing teeth to tongue and the power of voice saying, out loud, “Let me pray with you” or “You’re really special to me”, or even…“that really hurt.”  And I sometimes wish I could press the pause button on life and take to my keyboard for awhile, to throw all my words out there on the page, rearrange them and process all my internal reactions and copy and paste and backspace to my heart’s content.  

So often, I don’t know what I’m thinking or feeling or doing at all in this life until I write it down, rearrange it, tweak and edit a bit, and click the ‘save’ button.  

And maybe this is what creativity is for, in the end.  Maybe God gives us this method to make tangible the scattered pieces of our hearts, to cut and copy and paste, paint and scratch into masterpiece, beautify and hit the save button -- commit to memory -- the creative reflection...the wellspring of our hearts mirroring the very Creator.

So I work on words… the wrong ones that often fall from my lips and those that have such a hard time coming.  The ones that uplift and the ones that spear the hearer.  The ones spoken, with the same power as the ones written.  And all the while I dance around the blank page with its black font and thank the God who gave us creativity (and roads that lead us home). 

Grateful, with Ann today (whoops, the holiday de-railed me on this one.  Totally thought it was Monday.  Counting Gifts on Tuesday, today):

-          Purging belongings, simplifying our lives

-          Much laughter over dinner with our boys last night

-          Enamelware dishes, even if I don’t have any

-          Spontaneous rain dumps

-          So much overwhelming peace, even in the vastness of the unknown

-          This giveaway, the chance for someone’s whole life to be blown wide open by God and words, and by God’s words

-          Options

-          Surprising generosity

-          Falling into new ways of be the gift, as Ann writes about