June 14, 2015
I’m laying on the fine sand of Cannon Beach, Oregon, listening to the waves. I can’t help but think of the irony that I came to write, to push away to a new season of my widowed life, and yet even the name of this beach makes me think of Dean . He loved historical cannons, and we got married to Pachelbel’s “Canon in D”. I smile, untying myself gently from the figurative mooring of Dean, I am intentionally acknowledging that all he was to me is revealing who I am to myself.
He always said that I’m a giver.
When a giver marries a giver, and their lives become intertwined, in the comfortable interweaving, “self” can be forgotten . Dean and I were happily married in large part because we were both givers. Without someone to give to, I sometimes find myself awkwardly without an appendage. I like to say that I am an “Explorer with a Limp”. It sounds good, but it hurts.
In my “being” time I am discovering who and where I am in a place where I no longer strive to be something for someone else. This is crazy territory! On paper, I simply ask God to guide me to who I might be or become in order to use the best of my gifts and calling. In practice, I’m a hot mess in the process.
Truthfully, it’s a messy cry. My waters run deep and chaotic. I give them to God.
Psalm 5:3 says, “In the morning, O Lord, you hear my voice; in the morning I lay my requests before you and wait in expectation. “
So I lay here, listening to the water, birds, wind, for 30 whole minutes, and do nothing. And now I write some more, and this is my reasoning:
In resting and listening, our ears and mind are more aware . As we press our ear “against the wall” to hear God’s voice on the other side, we grow to realize his voice is already within us, rather than on the other side of the wall.
In resting, my mind is opened and that is when I journal, selfishly , for I write and blog for me, first and foremost . I don’t write to entertain, or for commercial aspirations, I write because it is simply a form of emotional respiration critical for my health. I write because it leads me to the inevitable conclusion that there is always a light and insight in the next unborn paragraph. In the next day.
Writing, for me, is emotional breathing.
I believe everyone has a creative mind and it is simply put away more deeply in some than others. Listening to the waves of this infinitely deep ocean arriving incessantly on the beach is God saying to me today “bring your joys and your pains my daughter , bring your stories from the deep and lay them here, on these pages and on these sandy shores at my feet “.
It has been said that we don’t write in order to be understood, rather we write in order to understand.
I couldn’t agree more. Baby steps, sand between my toes. It feels so good.