Writing has carried me throughout the toughest moments, the darkest, the happiest; it's held onto dreams yet to come into fruition. It's like a bank in which I deposit all things which are painfully honest or too embarrassing to tell. I think about the many who don't have the ability to write. Either due to lack of education, materials and/or freedom.
I think about history and how the world was forever changed at the dawn of language and again when the age of putting life in the form of characters in dirt, tablets, or any other material they could keep record of life on. This continued so on and so forth as technology advanced and we print news and record tragic and marvelous events. People wrote because they knew today or someday somebody would read it and that it would have purpose.
Some may think that writing is over rated. That it holds no cure for their own personal pain or even for the worlds. I read articles about the thousands killed in places like Syria and a journalists plea for the world to take action. I hear song lyrics that speak of moments so trapped inside an artist that the only way to release it's claim on their soul is to write it for the world to hear. We write to share the burden of a problem or to release erupting joy. I think of how some will silence the voice. Others will allow it to stay with them for a time because it relates to their own memories and present moment. Still, to many others it inspires movements or change and it heals or allows walls to be broken.
The permanence of print somehow allows these horrible and/or magnificent events in the world at large or from within ourselves to become real or tangible, making it easier to grasp. The memory or moment can no longer haunt us but we can look at it again, face to face, and defeat it or remember it in times of need. Even if the print were destroyed or burned, the story would forever be told, giving it the ability to change the present and/or future. Somehow writing it all out, emancipates us to be vulnerable and raw, and it sets within us power that threatened to leave us just moments ago. It reveals a Presence we never thought we'd find or get back.
I wrote poetry all through high school. Throughout this time I was very depressed and so naturally, my writing was dark. It held anger, pain and fear. I actually felt guilty because I was negative. I didn't see rainbows or roses, I saw dark clouds and storms. That all seemed to counter my beliefs of a God who saves and gives bright abundant days. So I began to try and write songs of praise but it was like squeezing juice out of a used up lemon. I got a couple drops here and there but could never find enough to make my sweet lemonade just bitter and sour writing.
Eventually my thoughts saw less and less pen and paper. The whole notion seemed childish and dramatic because my pieces always held a certain amount of melodrama. It also lacked approval from certain people, approval I craved so much; so, eventually I showed it to no one. The voice in my writing became a wallflower, quiet and unnoticeable to both its viewers and its creator.
However, with God, my writing always took center stage. Believe me or don't but he brought it up in a prophecy that had been spoken over me. Two people who knew absolutely nothing about me and most certainly knew nothing of my poetry because I wasn't writing too much at the time. They asked me, "do you write poetry," in my mind I thought, sure if you could even call it that. I had little faith in words that I wrote and the word poetry sounded far too beautiful a word to label my own. Anyways, I said yes with a tone of confusion because it was very random question and of little importance considering all the things they could have said about my life. "He loves your poetry and He wants you to keep writing." I didn't really know whether to take it seriously or not....MY writing?!
Needless to say, I've tried my best to keep my writing alive for the One who loves it so much. Some years have been better than others. Most of the time I feel it's just my analytical, imaginative, hopeless-romantic, melancholy mind, babbling like a crazy lady in a psych ward.(see what I mean) Haha! But it sets me free.
Free from heart break. Free from impatience. Free from my inadequacy to save the world. Free from stress and emotions that threaten to choke me up. Sets me free from lies told to me in secret that day. However, over the years it's allowed me to tell of a Love that's unmatchable to any other and writing about it sets my heart free, instead of keeping it locked away. Even if it is cheesy or ridiculous sounding. To me, this Love, (and I am not alone) it's real and paper helps me to never forget that. So I'll step out and put up a few pieces I've written, even the ones I wrote in middle school. No fear. No cares if you approve or not. Writing helps me to find my voice. And maybe it'd help you find yours too. But more importantly, when I write, I find Him.
I think about history and how the world was forever changed at the dawn of language and again when the age of putting life in the form of characters in dirt, tablets, or any other material they could keep record of life on. This continued so on and so forth as technology advanced and we print news and record tragic and marvelous events. People wrote because they knew today or someday somebody would read it and that it would have purpose.
Some may think that writing is over rated. That it holds no cure for their own personal pain or even for the worlds. I read articles about the thousands killed in places like Syria and a journalists plea for the world to take action. I hear song lyrics that speak of moments so trapped inside an artist that the only way to release it's claim on their soul is to write it for the world to hear. We write to share the burden of a problem or to release erupting joy. I think of how some will silence the voice. Others will allow it to stay with them for a time because it relates to their own memories and present moment. Still, to many others it inspires movements or change and it heals or allows walls to be broken.
The permanence of print somehow allows these horrible and/or magnificent events in the world at large or from within ourselves to become real or tangible, making it easier to grasp. The memory or moment can no longer haunt us but we can look at it again, face to face, and defeat it or remember it in times of need. Even if the print were destroyed or burned, the story would forever be told, giving it the ability to change the present and/or future. Somehow writing it all out, emancipates us to be vulnerable and raw, and it sets within us power that threatened to leave us just moments ago. It reveals a Presence we never thought we'd find or get back.
I wrote poetry all through high school. Throughout this time I was very depressed and so naturally, my writing was dark. It held anger, pain and fear. I actually felt guilty because I was negative. I didn't see rainbows or roses, I saw dark clouds and storms. That all seemed to counter my beliefs of a God who saves and gives bright abundant days. So I began to try and write songs of praise but it was like squeezing juice out of a used up lemon. I got a couple drops here and there but could never find enough to make my sweet lemonade just bitter and sour writing.
Eventually my thoughts saw less and less pen and paper. The whole notion seemed childish and dramatic because my pieces always held a certain amount of melodrama. It also lacked approval from certain people, approval I craved so much; so, eventually I showed it to no one. The voice in my writing became a wallflower, quiet and unnoticeable to both its viewers and its creator.
However, with God, my writing always took center stage. Believe me or don't but he brought it up in a prophecy that had been spoken over me. Two people who knew absolutely nothing about me and most certainly knew nothing of my poetry because I wasn't writing too much at the time. They asked me, "do you write poetry," in my mind I thought, sure if you could even call it that. I had little faith in words that I wrote and the word poetry sounded far too beautiful a word to label my own. Anyways, I said yes with a tone of confusion because it was very random question and of little importance considering all the things they could have said about my life. "He loves your poetry and He wants you to keep writing." I didn't really know whether to take it seriously or not....MY writing?!
Needless to say, I've tried my best to keep my writing alive for the One who loves it so much. Some years have been better than others. Most of the time I feel it's just my analytical, imaginative, hopeless-romantic, melancholy mind, babbling like a crazy lady in a psych ward.(see what I mean) Haha! But it sets me free.
Free from heart break. Free from impatience. Free from my inadequacy to save the world. Free from stress and emotions that threaten to choke me up. Sets me free from lies told to me in secret that day. However, over the years it's allowed me to tell of a Love that's unmatchable to any other and writing about it sets my heart free, instead of keeping it locked away. Even if it is cheesy or ridiculous sounding. To me, this Love, (and I am not alone) it's real and paper helps me to never forget that. So I'll step out and put up a few pieces I've written, even the ones I wrote in middle school. No fear. No cares if you approve or not. Writing helps me to find my voice. And maybe it'd help you find yours too. But more importantly, when I write, I find Him.
No comments:
Post a Comment