IT’S NOT WRITING, BUT THERE WILL BE ENOUGH [T, 7-12-22]

 

Helen predicted that I could not stop writing, and she was partially right. Only partially, though.

I’m posting something here occasionally in Christ In Winter, but it’s not really the result of writing. It’s just accidental, words slopping over from my brain onto the “page.”

I stopped writing because I need to concentrate on soul work. Writing distracts me from soul work.

Writing is a different kind of work. If I am a writer, every idea that comes into my brain, I go into writer mode. How can I write this so that others can get something from it?

It’s the same thing I have done with preaching for lo, these 65 years. Every idea… will it preach? Not what does it do for my soul, but where does it do for a sermon?

Now, I let the ideas just work on my soul. I don’t think about writing. [Or preaching] If some idea gets onto the page, and then into this blog… well, who knows why…

Well, I’m sure that you did not come here, intentionally or accidentally, to hear a boring monologue on something relevant only to me, so here’s an entry from my poetry journal, from 5-21-22, a little something for your trouble.

THERE WILL BE ENOUGH

I would like to store up

against the coming darkness

The green carpet of grass

The slow rising of the sun

The gentle muttering

of the breeze

The friendly waving

of the trees

But I have tried before

to hoard these things away

in the storehouse of love

and God keeps saying

No need

Wherever, there will be

more

 

John Robert McFarland