Monday, May 10, 2010

working the soil

(wrote this the last morning of my retreat as i watched robert, my new parish farmer friend, prepare the ground for planting. it is both metaphorical and literal. you may interpret it whichever way you please...)

Clay is not the
best soil within
which
to plant seeds.
Dense and unyielding to the
touch of mere hands,
it resists all
advances, rebuffs all
attempts to turn and
till.
And yet, the gardener toils on--
the back-breaking work of
redemption, worked
clod by heavy
clod.
Overturning that which is
on the surface (revealing
how shallow are
its roots),
the earth is laid bare--barren
and
broken before all--
vulnerable and
exposed.
Reverently and tenderly, the
gardener persists, nurturing this
valuable plot of
potential--
mattock in hand, patient and
undaunted.
There is much to be done--
much that is missing, much to
be reintroduced in this
restorative work.
He applies the refuse of our
lives to the
surface, working it into the
soil, trusting it will provide what
is needed. Trusting that--
in time-- the ground will soften
to his touch and
receive the tiny vessels of
life he is eager to
deposit.
Trusting that--
in time-- all will be
redeemed and the
soil in his
care will
bear
fruit.

Sunday, May 09, 2010

grinding gears

The transition from writer back to mother and wife is not going smoothly--I've ground a few gears along the way and was afraid I might have dropped the transmission at one point yesterday. Transitions aren't easy for me anyway, but this one was a bit harder than I expected. I keep seeing images of The Convent superimposed over my life--faces at the table, the view out my window, my happy little desk with my happy little laptop--I can't seem to be fully here yet. I don't want to be fully here yet.

I want to go back to that space--that space where I was free to write for hours on end without interruptions, where nothing at all was required of me, where all that was in my head finally oozed out my fingers onto paper and I was free of it and it of me. I liked that space. I liked the person I got to be there. There is no space here. What am I going to do about that?

There is much work to be done. Next on the agenda is creating a macro or master document, then printing the manuscript in its entirety. Then the first round of revisions begins, and then a second printing, this time to give to a few trusted friends to tear apart, hopefully with grace and a great deal of tenderness. (Any volunteers?) While they rip my baby to shreds, I will create a formal book proposal, and then I will do another revision and then send the proposal and a few sample chapters out to the wolves to be devoured and eaten. Sounds like a good time. Remind me again WHY I wanted to do this?

I need to go to bed. Tomorrow we hit the ground running--43 hours of clients to make up for being out for a week. The past week already feels like a distant memory--remember that time, like, three years ago, when I went on that writing retreat? I should really do that again sometime.

Soon.

Thursday, May 06, 2010

now what?!?!

I am finished with the entire rough draft, with two and a half hours left until dinner. As I am too over-caffeinated to take a nap, I don't know what to do with myself!!!

matins

Almighty and Eternal God,
So draw my heart to you,
So guide my mind,
So fill my imagination,
So control my will
That I may be completely devoted to you.
Then use me as you will:
Use me always for your glory
And the welfare of your people.
This I ask through Christ. Amen.


May this be realized in me today, Lord, as I work to bring the first portion of this process to completion. Amen, and amen!!!

Wednesday, May 05, 2010

the midday office

Direct me, O Lord, in all my doings with your most gracious favor, and further me with your continual help; that in all my work begun, continued, and ended in you, I may glorify your holy name...

I have written six chapters, three and a half of them in the last two days, and yet I still sit down to my computer every time with the fear that I will not be able to write.

Come, Lord, come! Chapter seven awaits!

Monday, May 03, 2010

evening compline

What a day. I have already informed my husband I am not ever coming home. Ever. I wrote for seven hours today, and I'm still sitting at my computer. I wrote two and a half chapters during this time, which means I have five out of eight completed. I am so excited I can't stand it.

We talked around the dinner table about the fear we must overcome to put words to paper. I felt that this morning, to be sure. The fear that I would sit down to write and nothing would come, and I would have set aside this time and paid this money and forgone a week of income for nothing. And though that fear was unfounded today, the fear remains for tomorrow. A fresh chapter, a fresh blank page. Will I be able to fill it? I can only attempt in my weakness to trust that God will use and direct that time as he sees fit.

I hope he sees fit to write another chapter.

morning prayer

Breakfast behind me, I return to my room, nervous and uncertain. I place my hands upon the keys—feel the wind though the window, hear the birds, the dogs, the motorcycles, sense the expectation in the air, in my body, in my spirit—and I wait.

Lord God, meet me here. In my quiet, in my typing, in my thinking, in my not-being-able-to-think. I invite—I implore—you to come.

Sunday, May 02, 2010

unwritten

Hit the road this afternoon for a five day writing retreat to work on the manuscript I promised myself I'd write before I turned 40. The skies were clouded with rain and my thoughts were clouded with insecurity. What could I possibly have to say that hasn't been said before? This is what played on radio as I left home behind...

Unwritten

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined
I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins
The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition, sometimes my tries, are outside the lines
We've been conditioned to not make mistakes, but I can't live that way

Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty window
Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance
So close you can almost taste it
Release your inhibitions
Feel the rain on your skin
No one else can feel it for you
Only you can let it in
No one else, no one else
Can speak the words on your lips
Drench yourself in words unspoken
Live your life with arms wide open
Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten
The rest is still unwritten

(lyrics by Natasha Benefield)

I've not written for almost six months--lost in a black cloud, unwilling to think, much less express. I am willing now. It is time to live my life with arms wide open.

Today is where my book begins.