I was talking with another writer the other night. I asked her what she had written this week. She hadn’t.
I tried to console her with my own truth: “I didn’t write much this week either,” I confessed. This led to an interesting discussion about why it is difficult to write.
I can’t speak for Jenny, but I do know that I have several problems that get in the way of writing. For one thing, I sit around waiting for inspiration or great thoughts to hit me. All that hits me when I do that is the desire to distract myself with on-line word games or a Snicker’s bar.
And then there is garden-variety laziness. Writing is work. Well, maybe not the physical act of writing. The hard work is the mind and heart and soul that you put into writing. Sometimes, writing flows for me, but not often. I have to be aware of what I am feeling and thinking. Even more difficult is thinking and feeling what my characters are thinking and feeling.
But I think that my biggest problem is that I don’t want to write about ordinary stuff. I want to deal with cosmic issues. And here is the problem with that: I don’t know much (or even suspect much) about cosmic issues.
However, here is what I think in my better moments: There is no such thing as “ordinary stuff.” I listen to other people’s stories, and I see this clearly.
However, my own life seems pretty ordinary to me. Still, there are moments when I see the truth. My story may be more comic than cosmic, but my life may impinge on great issues. I need to begin to see my life as it is—as an interesting life. Interestingly boring—that’s what my life is. As someone has said, I need to “dip my quill into my own heart’s lifeblood and write.”
All stories are interesting. To think of them otherwise is one of the gravest mistakes we can make.
And good writing about ordinary things makes for good reading. One of the many functions of good writing is that it lifts us out of ourselves, and then takes us back to ourselves. Of course, bad writing makes our “ordinary” lives seem drab and mundane. But, when we return to ourselves after reading a good poem, story, or book, we come back to find our selves slightly changed for the better. Perhaps we begin to see that our own lives are more interesting than we had previously imagined.
“Why art thou cast down, O my soul? and why art thou disquieted in me? hope thou in God: for I shall yet praise him for the help of his countenance.” (Psalm 42:5, KJV)
“Many things are possible for the person who has hope. Even more is possible for the person who has faith. And still more is possible for the person who knows how to love. But everything is possible for the person who practices all three virtues.” (Brother Lawrence. Read more: https://www.christianquotes.info/top-quotes/16-encouraging-quotes-about-hope/#ixzz4wiEMwLpV)
My sponsor, Bob, is good about encouraging me, but at times he also challenges me. For example, part of my report to my sponsor this morning was the following:
Subject: REPORT AND AFFIRMATION
Dear Bob,
“I plan to live in recovery today, without exception I hope!”
AFFIRMATION: Today, by God’s grace, I will an exceptionally 12-step life.
My sponsor replied, “Get rid of the qualifier, ‘I hope’. You cannot give yourself permission to fail. Do or Don’t, there is no try.”
Enjoy your day 😊
However, I e mailed him the following reply:
“Not so sure you’re right on this one. After all, hope is one of the three eternal virtues (1 Corinthians 13: 13).
I think that the crucial question is this: In whom or what am I trusting? If I am trusting in myself or my unaided efforts, my “hope” would be another word for despair.
But if I am hoping in God, that is an entirely different matter.
However, your comment has invited me to ask a very difficult and important question. Is my hope centered in God?
I hope (!!) this clarifies matter. 😊
Warm Regards”
But in a very profound sense, my sponsor is right. I do frequently use hope to give myself an out for failure. And when hope is used in that way, I am setting myself up for failure, and hope is not biblical hope.
“Hope thou in God,” says the psalmist (Psalm 42:5, 11). And God is the One in whom I can hope confidently. God forgives my sins, but God does not make room for those sins. Rather, God makes room for me. And a huge part of that “making room” for me is cleaning out all the moral, relational garbage that I tend to cling to as if it were some sort of treasure.
“Oh God, please help me to become the man that my dog thinks that I already am!” (The prayer of an honest man.)
“Then God said, ‘Let us make human beings in our image, to be like ourselves. They will reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, the livestock, all the wild animals on the earth, and the small animals that scurry along the ground.’
So God created human beings in his own image. In the image of God he created them; male and female he created them.
Then God blessed them and said, ‘Be fruitful and multiply. Fill the earth and govern it. Reign over the fish in the sea, the birds in the sky, and all the animals that scurry along the ground.’ ” (Genesis 1:26-28)
We now have a very small puppy. I feel that old pride, fear, and solicitude that I used to feel for our children when they were babies. I wish that I had continued to feel those feelings, and that I had acted accordingly as our children grew.
Our six-week-and-one-day-old puppy is going to help me get up early in the morning on a more consistent basis. She awakened me—and my wife, of course—at about 3:18 a.m. So, she is with me now in the study—the dog, that is. (My wife has gone back to bed.) The dog is sleeping in her cage, while I work at my desk and listen to WGUC. 3:18 a.m. is early, even for me.
Even though my wife did all of the heavy lifting with our children, I do remember some pretty sleepless nights. Or, at least, some nights with sporadic sleep! There is a reason why young people have babies. Perhaps only young people should have puppies as well.
Our puppy is reacquainting me with some very basic, uncomfortable truths about myself. The main reminder is this: I am a very selfish person. This is not exactly a new revelation. The truth is this: I have much more in common with our puppy than I have with you, God. My dog and I are both your creatures. We are both limited and full of ourselves.
God, you have made us human beings in your image. Perhaps our rulership over creation is actually a matter of loving creation, and helping the rest of creation to become more than it is. Perhaps (as C.S. Lewis thought), we are to raise even our pets to a higher level.
Perhaps. But in order to do that, we/I need to be and become our own selves. We/I need to be like you. That was the original promise (or fact?), according to Genesis 1:27. The original lie was that we needed to disobey God in order to really become like God (Genesis 3:5). The promise (or fact?) was that we were like you. Help us/me to live in the promise/fact, and not to buy into the lie.
The story is told of a mule that somehow stumbled into an unused well.
The good news? The mule was, quite surprisingly, unhurt.
The bad news? The mule couldn’t get out.
More good news! The farmer found his captive mule very quickly.
Really bad news. The farmer couldn’t figure out any way to free his mule.
A bit of better news. The farmer went to his neighbor for advice and help.
More than a bit of bitter news. The neighbor couldn’t figure out any way to help get the mule out either. The farmers were very poor, and couldn’t afford a block and tackle, much less a crane.
They did, however, have a shovel apiece.
So, they made a very difficult decision: They decided to bury the poor beast.
But they soon found that burying the animal was harder than they had anticipated. When they threw a shovelful of dirt, the mule would simply shake it off and stomp.
Eventually, they had put so much dirt in the well that the mule gave one last shake, stomped, and stepped out of the well. He was dirty and (no doubt disgusted with the rescue method), but otherwise unharmed.
I doubt that the preceding story is factual, but I do think that it is true. Or, at the very least, it contains truth.
There are times when we all stumble around and fall into a well. We can’t figure out how to get out. (Getting in is always easier than getting out, isn’t it?)
Perhaps even those who mean well can’t figure out what to do to help us. But at least, they can give us a decent burial.
However, if we can shake off their well-meaning attempts to write us off as dead—if we shake and stomp—we may find that we can eventually get out of the well.
I’ve actually had people I love treat me as if I were dead. They have their reasons. I’ve given them reasons. I love them, but I have not always treated them in a loving manner. They have thrown shovelfuls of verbal abuse and silence on me.
However, I have shaken it off as best I can, and stomped. (I’m too stubborn to die without doing some stomping.)
Goodbye, well pit! Hello freedom!
Do you need to do some shaking and stomping today? You can’t always control what people or life throw at you or on you, but you can shake and stomp.
“Should not, then, this robber, or this adulterer, be destroyed? By no means, but take it rather this way: This man who errs and is deceived concerning things of greatest moment, who is blinded, not in the vision which distinguisheth black and white, but in the judgment which distinguisheth Good and Evil—should we not destroy him? And thus speaking, you shall know how inhuman is that which you say, and how like as if you said, Shall we not destroy this blind man, this deaf man? For if it is the greatest injury to be deprived of the greatest things, and the greatest thing in every man is a Will such as he ought to have, and one be deprived of this, why are you still indignant with him? Man, you should not be moved contrary to Nature by the evil deeds of other men. Pity him rather, be not inclined to offense and hatred, abandon the phrases of the multitude, like “these cursed wretches.” How have you suddenly become so wise and hard to please?” (Epictetus)
“Frodo: ‘It’s a pity Bilbo didn’t kill Gollum when he had the chance.’
Gandalf: ‘Pity? It’s a pity that stayed Bilbo’s hand. Many that live deserve death. Some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them, Frodo? Do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. Even the very wise cannot see all ends. My heart tells me that Gollum has some part to play in it, for good or evil, before this is over. The pity of Bilbo may rule the fate of many—yours not least.’” (J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring.)
This morning, I was thinking about someone for whom I have great contempt. It isn’t important who. Fill in the blank, if you like.
Then, I turned “at random” to the above quote from the Stoic philosopher Epictetus. (Was it truly “at random”? I doubt it.)
Pity! Evil deeds show that someone is blind in very significant ways. The old expression “more to be pitied than censored” comes to mind.
The word “pity” may be related to the word “piety.” Both words get a bad press these days. Perhaps they deserve it. Think, for example, of the exclamation, “I don’t want your pity!”
Then again, maybe both pity and piety need to be brought back from exile. Perhaps the foundation of human society is pity, which is in turn a crucial aspect of piety.
Perhaps we could begin with our own evil, our own blindness. Perhaps we could have a little pity toward our own manifest and manifold stupidities.
Admittedly, self-pity can be a really bad thing. No question about that! I have often gotten enmeshed in self-pity. Easy to get into. Very nearly impossible to get out of!
However, even good things can be abused. Perhaps it is possible that exercising pity toward myself is appropriate if it is a balanced and appropriate pity.
As a friend of mine said many years ago (when he thought I was being too hard on myself), “You need to get off your own back!”
Perhaps if I got off my own back, I would have the courage to have pity on others as well.
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