No, I’m not really writing again, but I am thinking about Fred Skaggs this morning, as I sit in my living room, drinking coffee, looking at our little Christmas tree, and…
Fred is a clergy colleague and Virginia Gentleman. He called a few days ago, not exactly upset that I am no longer writing, but disappointed, so much so that he gave me several ideas of things I should ruminate on in print. That’s the way Fred is—he looks for solutions.
The solution to my “problem,” though, I think, is not writing, but not-writing. I suspect that I have used words all my life to avoid The Word. Ironically, the words are a gift from The Word.
I have always learned what I was thinking, and sometimes what The Word was telling me, by reading my words, reading what I wrote. I think that the challenge for me in my last days is to learn to hear The Word without processing it into words.
Fred is already at that point. He hears The Word, regardless. Maybe, perhaps after Christmas, I shall be closer to that point, and feel comfortable about writing again. If not, I know that Fred’s got my back, which is a gift in itself. Thanks, Fred, and Merry Christmas… and to anyone who has stumbled across this site again, may the peace of Christ and Christmas be with you.
If you don’t know where you’re going, you might wind up some place else. Yogi Berra