Ever wonder why writers always seem a little distracted? Disconnected? Like they are on another planet? With a strange vocabulary and an odd twist on the mundane? It's because we're writers. Through a Writer's Eyes will help you see what we see and how we see and why we say what we do. Feel free to join the conversation. Let me know how you see what I see. Thanks for stopping by! Enjoy the journey!
Saturday, September 8, 2012
Sooner or Later
Any minute the next edition of 5ive For Women will be available at 5iveforwomen.com. It will include a little piece about changing seasons and I will surely post it here.... but while we wait for the printers to finish printing, here is a little autumn piece to read while you sip your pumpkin spice latte.
It can be found under the Fall section of A Friend Named Jesus. As explained in the book, Fall is a time when "...Things are falling, chill replaces warmth, doors are closed and you
wonder if God is still there. You hold to promises unseen, not realizing your
faith is growing a foundation."
Thinking about unwritten books, unspoken words, unthought emotions.
They sit there, beneath the surface waiting
for the right pen to come along and begin the sentence.Or maybe it’s not even the pen, but the words
that are unsaid.These ideas that need
something to give them life.These
emotions that need someone to give them purpose.They sit there buried under reality and wish
that someone dig a little deeper, ask another question, see a little more
Instead.They stay unwritten,
I keep wishing that the words under my skin would find some way to be
released.That they would find someone
to hear them.That someone would care
enough to remove the wall, brick by brick, and allow the words to breathe.
I’m afraid of failure.I’m
afraid that if I open myself up, I’ll only find myself vulnerable and
hurt.I’m afraid that if I try to speak,
I’ll not find an unresponsive listener, but I’ll find ridicule.And so I swallow the words and put the pen
away and close the book.
I’d rather keep them to myself than risk their exposure to
But You say to be open.You say
to share my words.You say to be an open
Can You tell me, please, if anyone wants to hear, then?Can You tell me please if I’m just to carry
all of this emotion alone for all my life?
Would the words be shushed if they were shared?
See?That’s why I close the
book, put the pen away and swallow the words.
But the words push themselves to the surface over and again.Unwilling to remain unseen.
If only I knew someone would listen.I would share my words.I would
describe the cacophony of sound I see and sing the colors that dance around
me.I would write in great detail and
wondrous prose the events and times and lives that shape my world.I would leave a legacy.A written record.A history.
But no one really seems to want to hear.
Or perhaps, I am not looking far enough or deep enough or soft enough.
To order a copy of A Book of Pages About Crossing Bridges
or a Friend Named Jesus, please visit my website: Writer's Pages