"That's it.  If I take one more step, it'll be the farthest from home I've ever been."

I'm discovering, this is what it means to be a writer.

While many focus on the introspection required to write and write well, I'm discovering that to write is to leave home, leave the familiar of one's own thoughts.  Each thoughtfully-crafted piece of writing - be it prose, poetry, essay, fiction, non-fiction, etc. - each piece takes me further into the wild.  After finishing one, I find myself contemplating where I am, what these surroundings are.

To identify as "a writer" is to accept a nomadic imagination.  One that is never "home," only settling here or alighting there before taking off to explore the next place.  It often means leaving people behind (or at least, characters who have become dear friends).  I think it's why so many writers feel restless, the "hopeless wanderer" syndrome. 

I think this is one of the reasons I feared becoming a writer for so long.

Being that we're at the half-way point of the year, I've been reviewing some of my journals and blog posts.  And it struck me that I had no goal to "write more" this year or anything of the sort.  It's just been a season where I can't. stop. writing.  I've given up, waved the white flag, and surrendered.  Yes, you were all right when you claimed me or labeled me as a writer.  I was afraid, so I hid.  But looking back at a full journal, blog posts, and draft posts I need more emotional distance from before publishing (or more courage... take your pick) - I see there's no more hiding it. 

But what I've written thus far, the things I'm about to attempt, they've taken me on a journey far from what was comfortable.  And if I take one more step, it'll be the farthest from home I've ever been.  I'll have crossed into the unknown, unsettled territory of my consciousness.

Until the day when, like so many of our favorite characters, there is the final homecoming.  "A far green country under a swift sunrise."  The writer's journey proves its worth in it's memories and in the field of our imagination... but only when we cross the threshold to that home we never knew but were always searching for does the creator find their pearl of great price.

This is the hope I hold onto.

Signed,
A writer

Matthew 23:12 in the Message:

If you're content to simply be yourself, your life will count for plenty.

there it is. this verse has been messing with me. why is it so hard to be simple? why do we make it so hard? why do we compare ourselves when we were never meant to be the same as someone else? why can't we just learn to really truly trust Him?!
one of the songs i've had on repeat lately:

What joy, what joy for those whose hope is in the name of the Lord!
What peace, what peace for those whose confidence is Him alone!

and that is what i want! i've had moments where i've been there. i've touched that peace. but then all the old insecurities come back to whisper lies in my ear. but then just the other morning i read this:

I'm hurt and in pain;
Give me space for healing, and mountain air.

tehe! i love that last part.
and that is what i need right now because my finals week is a week early this quarter-which does mean 2 weeks of spring break-but it also means a lot to do for this next week:
- 5 page paper on the significance of costumes in Merchant of Venice (ok, not gonna lie--i'm actually excited about writing this one :)
- 2-3 page analysis on Things Fall Apart
- A French composition
- A whole set of French homework
- A French Quiz
- A French Final
- A reflective essay
- An English Lit final

all of that between now and 8:30 next Saturday morning!
but I think it will be alright. like always, i just need His grace!

one last thought - you know when life can be really hard but it's so okay because you know He's up to something? that's how i feel. so i can be at peace.

ok. i'm going to go grab my slippers because my little toesies are freezing! and then i'm going to start into that list. and i'm probably going to bed early. that's a sweet thought.
sweet dreams to all of you!

bon soir! ;)

Beneath a Willow

So, about a year ago, some very very thoughtful friends of mine secretively wrote this poem for me at a Microsoft Conference. I love it and thought I would share it with the world:

Samara, the lady fair

And beautifully made,

Sighed as she sat down 

Beneath a willow in its shade.

As she leaned against this tree, 

the young lady yawned.

Soon she fell fast asleep

And this is what she saw...

...A sun-lit road and daffodils,

An old abandoned shoe,

Adorned with seven butterflies

And flowers-white and blue.

With curious and wandering thoughts,

She traveled down the road,

Not knowing what was next 

Not knowing where to go.

Like the flicker of a lighted lamp

A creature caught her glance.

A bounding hart with eyes aglow,

Alive in prideful prance.

The creature had such presence!

Samara wished to know

From whence derived its fire--

Its passion, grace, and flow!

Its commanding presence halted

And began to graze in a clear

Which is when the youthful Samara

Started to draw near

Cautiously she placed each step

Avoiding making noise.

But-Ah!-one crackle of a twig

Disrupted the creature's poise.

With a twinkle in his eye

He felt her presence there.

Samara quickly held her breath

As the wind blew in her hair.

The hart's eyes stared into hers

Until finally making a turn

And he slowly walked away

Through the bushes and the ferns.

She hesitated once, and then,

With one last look around,

Samara chose to follow him,

to see where he was bound.

She, persistent in pursuit,

Cautious of what was ahead,

Kept sight of the creature,

The hart knowing as he fled.

He knew her real intention,

Knew her heart was true,

But the wild that lay inside him

Pushed him as he flew.

She ran with sheer joy.

She ran to keep his pace,

For the strength she gave to chase him

Was the cost to see his face.

He stopped beside a willow tree

And turned to look at her.

His eyes met hers; she smiled at him

And walked to join him there...

... The lady awoke with a start

Alone out in the dark.

The images were fading ,

Replaced with grass and bark--

Except... those blazing eyes!

That memory was her own.

One thing she knew for sure;

Such peace she'd never known

For the prince of the forest 

Is not easily caught.

The desire to give up quickly

Must be beat and fought.

The thirst for comfort,

The love of rest,

Must be abandoned 

To gain what is the best.

The best is to be near him, 

Gazing in his eyes,

Knowing what you have given 

Was worth this heavenly prize.

- Composed by:

Sean Matthews

Jared Crealock

Dahlia Avila

Emily Franklin

July 2008, Houston, Texas