When I was younger I would write to “get it all out”. If I was sad or angry I would grab a pen, pencil or sometimes sit at my typewriter and pour it all out on paper. When I finished the intense emotion was gone and I could go on. I was never sad or angry for long because I poured that out on paper. Many times, writing it down helped me get through and realize that the problem wasn’t nearly as big as I had it worked up to be in my mind.
I have always been a communicator. Many of my relationships ended up being on paper through “snail mail” as friends who’d stayed in Rochester for the summer ice skating sessions went home for the school year, or people moved and we stayed in touch or cousins who didn’t live where we did but I wanted a link to.
Writing became a part of life. My sister said when she looks at a blank piece of paper (before attempting to write a letter) she is literally filled with panic. “what to write, will it be boring, oh, do I have to do this….” For me, it was simply flight of thought and stream of consciousness. What the cat did that morning, how my garden looked, who I had seen or talked to that my sister might know…..
I wiggle. After I was made new and whole by Jesus it was only natural to sit, with a pencil in hand and write to Him and then write what I thought He was laying on my heart. This stopped the wiggles and gave me something to reflect upon when the immediate time was passed too. These scribbles are now in the process of becoming 10-12 published books.
As we grew up we were only allowed about 3 hours of TV a week and those only if chores were done and homework completed. We read a lot. Then the TV died. Dad was an electrician and the TV sat in the basement for 3 years waiting for him to fix it. Actually, that was probably the best gift he could have given us. We read some more. Through reading, I learned to appreciate the written word and venture out into to area of writing myself.
My biggest challenge is to write a concise word picture that I dub prosaic poetry. I do some of the rhyming ones also but prefer short ones with perfect words to grab a meaning and paint it on paper for my reader. I have been writing poetry since I was four and enjoying the challenge.
Everything I look at begs to be written about, communicated with someone else; my cats, the wildflowers in the yard, the colt down the road, my angst with a patient who didn’t make it when I was an RN, people tormenting and not realizing that a relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ can truly set them FREE, the humor in a strange situation, husband-wife communication or miscommunication, LIFE…requires typing up because there is so much to share and so little time.
As I write today the winds are picking up, the springtime we had for a couple of weeks in this mountain meadow is about to be rudely postponed as we get up to 5 inches of much needed snow. The clouds are thick, pregnant with moisture. I am glad that those flowers I got are safe in the garage on the workbench. Planting will come later when the cold crystals have melted. I think those early spring days were sort of an April trick but we really did enjoy them while we had them! Yes, I just have to WRITE!
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