Today I took time to look back at old journals and previous writing. Let me tell you, it is both astonishing and humbling to review previous work, especially if you care about it. And to see the story of your life in general. Because inevitably you are able to see the good work of God in your life, and hear the nasty comments and thoughts of the inner critic. Sometimes at the same time. My life has been interesting and good and sort of obviously raw all at once. Like many, or maybe everyone. My journals show it.
I think about writing all of the time. When I'm teaching, when I'm talking with people, when I wake up in the morning and am trying to make sense of the day. 'Write it down.' That's what the inner heartbeat says to me. And I have lately been thinking about this, and why the thing that charges you up and makes you feel most alive also brings you to your own messy soul just as quickly too. I have been thinking about bravery and mastery of fear and that things in this world that are broken always end up pointing to God. God is all about broken things.
This is the surprising sweetness of grace.
'When I run, I feel God's pleasure' is a quote that everyone knows from 'Chariots of Fire'. But I don't feel that about running. I feel that about ink and white paper and silence. But this moment, the knowingness, is also the edge of the cliff. It's scary. Because I realize how much, in these small quiet moments, that I really care. Really really. I knew I wanted to do this in 2nd grade, write things, but the only big word I knew was 'vast'. So I wrote a story about the prairie, and after I got to the idea of a vast sky in the dark at night, I had no idea what else to say. So I closed the notebook and stopped.
The fear of art being wrong goes way back.
Sometimes, these days, I get to the blank page, and the thing that everyone talks about comes to the forefront of my mind. Writer's block. The black precipice of doubt about who you really are.
'What are you really attempting to do? It's a little presumptuous, right, to think you could write? There are better things to be doing with your time. People have told you so.'
That's what the inner critic says. It is horrendous. And everyone talks about this block, so it feels like old news already. But it is the same murky feeling every time. Have I ever had anything of merit to say at all? I blink a few times and get a panic that I've been inauthentic for years and no one told me. But it's only sometimes. Just a brief thing to flit across the mind. I have been thinking about this fear again because lately it feels important. It has been tripping me up.
Here is one good remedy.
I have been reading a book called 'A Million Little Ways', and it is about art. It says again that God makes art in his people. That I am art. That I am 'poiema', which is the Greek word for workmanship. That the things of my life, in these millions of little moments, represent the work of God in me. I believe this, and outside of the book, before I ever picked it up, I would have said this was true. God is artful. You see it all of the time. But the book is asking me to BELIEVE it. And somehow, thinking something and believing something can be separate things.
I was drawn to this book because it was simple in its presentation. It is beautiful in its expression, right from the start. I was also drawn to this because I know the feeling, this dangerous dreaming moment, where I know that this is true of my life. It is true of everyone in broken, redeemed humanity. If we just look around and see it.
I am going to keep talking about this. Not just because I need to hear it and live it and believe it, but because I think you do too. Maybe not about writing, but about something else. There is a message here about every person in the world.
The inner critic seems paramount when your own thought life feels dry and unmovable and stale. I am not sure what I imagine in my mind when the criticism that quells actually comes. It's not a certain kind of a looks or person or a certain portion of humanity that calls out the most fear in me about the 'what ifs'. That's why it's hard to navigate. For me it's probably just knowledge and sensible thinking. I hear this.....
'You can't create something of real value if it's not been well developed or if you can find its source citation. Surely you need to be more sensible about your work in order for it to have value.'
I think it's the common language of academia that thrills me most in the classroom and does the most damage in the life of writing. Writing is one step to the next, and wondering about things without, at first, a structure, and it's not very sensible when you're in it. It's the next word, the next blinking thought, the staring out the window looking tragic for no reason you could ever explain....you're HAPPY inside, but your face doesn't show it. It doesn't line up with the bell schedule or the ways you talk with students. It is certainly not like grading papers. Inspiration at first doesn't always make sense.
Last week I sat in a meeting at school about student writing, and as we broke things down in a very concrete and analytical way, I realized that this is the daily language I speak. And yet, it's a literary angle that fills my mind. These things clash. I felt insecure about what I should say on the outside because it didn't fit. I said that aloud, and got blank looks. But this kid was literary in a way only 6th graders are, and I was fascinated by it. I sat there feeling like I knew myself better than ever. And I don't begrudge the concrete thinkers who teach history with me, by the way. It's what we do, and I like it. But it's not literary.
Maybe in the end, it's just the sensible modern age in which we love to live. And the freedom you must have to shy away from it all and dream can seem so silly. Productivity and progress rule. Racing time. Never having enough of it. But sometimes creativity needs to hole up in order to say something back. Something it needs breathing room and space. Maybe that's the inner critic....the simple sensibilities of our time.
For all of my whimsical thinking, I can be incredibly aware of what does and doesn't work all around me. Unless we are completely checked out, we all are. What is expected. What next. What you are supposed to shore up and do and be about when a crisis comes your way and it's only momentarily up to you to make things right. It gets locked in tight in daily living. It's a different skill set, a different way of being, a different call.
But the thing is, the writing life hovers over that too. I call that side of my being 'the teaching self', and it happily rules me during daylight hours. I like my work. I like what it brings me to. I like what I have come to know about the world because of the time spent with students in classrooms. With books and ideas and a plan. But the mornings, the time with coffee and silence and God, and sometimes the late night hours like this, here at now at Sphyouse Coffee on Broadway....this is a different time. A different call in life. One not to be left out of such a rich life I am supposed to live. It's where the momentum for the real and authentic conversations of my life begin.
I think God wants me to pay attention to it.
Add this to the rest of my inner landscape lately....the thinking of myself as a 'glorious ruin'. Because of Jesus, and because I am human. Brennan Manning so brilliantly said this, and it got to me. There is always much more to this world than just achieving my own story. My own goals. Instead, when I say something about my own broken humanity I say something to other people about theirs. I think people long for this in others. This 'saying it back to them' sort of thing on the page. Connection like this is important and it matters.
Being a 'glorious ruin' is the most freeing and exasperating thing all at once. You don't get too far away from your own human frailty when you address the life you care about and you're still the mess you always were. When you hope for things again and let yourself dream. I think that's the point. It's why 'Emmanuel' is a word that means so much. God is with us in the good, bad, and the ugly. He is here.
The book I am reading is full of good things that are speaking to me. Not just because I like the idea of an artful God, or because the book is lovely to look at and hold and consider. Not just because I want to write books or say something of value to the world. Or because I want to be a good teacher or daughter or friend or, someday, mother. The book is good because it calls out the hard things that don't go away when you create something. It draws you back to redemption, to 'the hand of God, which is where you wanted to be all along'.....thank you, Bittersweet and Cold Tangerines and, once again, Shauna.
It draws you to the rest of your good story.
For now, though, this.....A series of questions that draw you back to your own old ways. The things that used to seem common when you had your confidence. What you longed for and wished for and prayed about freely. For me, aside from the people in my life, this has always been writing and teaching.
I need these questions right now because something got shifted and stuck and needs to be righted. I can tell that it's got to change because people who believe in me, in what I am doing in life lately, are surprised by my hesitation about the things I love.
LOOK WITHIN - What is it you truly desire? It's time to wake up to that.
LOOK BACK - Where are there hints of your design hidden in your childhood? It's time to rescue those.
LOOK UP - What is your true hope? It's time to sink into God.
LOOK AROUND - How are the critics causing you the most discouragement? It's time to see where your real life comes from.
LOOK BENEATH - What moves you from the inside out? It's time to listen in a way you haven't done before.
The first two ideas have seemed obvious and paramount in my 20s for years now. People I know who sometimes don't feel that way in their own lives bring it up....they long to know a call. MY problem is that I am unclear about the last two. I DO see discouragement, but how is it showing up? I AM moved by many things, but how should they be explained?
Last of all, this. A quote from Jon Foreman, paraphrased and still literary and crisp and clear.
'You are called.....this breath is your canvas and your brush. These are the raw materials for your art, for the life you are making. Nothing is off limits. Your backyard, your piano, your paintbrush, your conversation, Rwanda, New Orleans, Iraq, your marriage, your soul. You're making a living with every step you take.'
'And now for some heart work'. - Rilke
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