Tuesday, November 5, 2013

Just Write: Life on the verge




I imagine I'm sitting in the living room, waiting, listening for the sound of a car pulling up in the driveway, for footsteps outside my door.  I wait, but all the cars drive by.  I stand up, restless, pull the door open and peer over the threshold, into the slow-fade of daylight.  Nothing.  I shut the door, lean against it for a few full breaths, and sit back down.  

Here I wait for words to come, the urge to write pressing from within my chest, and there is nothing.  Nothing, and yet I'm sputtering in a deluge of metaphors, searching for the words to express the deep waters astir.  I find there is much to speak and nothing worth speaking, coexisting in the tension of irony.  

I refuse to write nothingness.  And there is a time for pushing through, a time for writing into inspiration; but I'm finding, too, there is a time to sit back and wait, to quiet the torrent of words, until static gives way to a clear, resounding note.  If it is true, I write because I must, then it is also true that I wait to share words because they must be told. Because I wonder, along with so many wonderers who walk this lonely path of writing, Why is this worth sharing with the world?  What is this all about?  If I'm going to bare my soul here, by God, let it have a purpose beyond mere disclosure. 

This past year and a half, I've walked through the darkest pages of my story thus far, and I've wrestled and agonized and dared to bare my soul in this humble, tiny space, in hopes that it might resonate with even one other soul.  Like sitting across from a friend, looking unflinchingly into their eyes and saying, "You're not alone."  This is why I write.  

I've gone deep into the cave in this dark season, and I've written from that place, and I've struggled with the onset of tunnel vision.  The blurry-eyed seeing of someone just trying to survive, barely able to focus in on the stories of the ones right beside me.  I've been the bicyclist wearing glasses riding home in a downpour, where I squint between drops collecting on glass and everything becomes about this urgent matter of making it home safely.  In this place, I tip to and fro beneath the dance to balance grace for my weakness with grace-filled eyes that remain open to others.  Most days, I fail, and it breaks my heart.  I get up, with scraped knees and puffy eyes, and ask God to help me take the next step toward love.  For I will not give up; I want to love with a full heart. 

First, my heart must be filled. 

In this season, I've certainly grown tired of my own voice, my own story.  I often fear that I'm living a story that is an Amber-sized imitation of the greater song that swallows mine whole; the one where I find what is mine woven tightly in the threads of what was and is and always will be his - my Creator's.  It's been a couple of weeks, now, and the cave that I've been trying to find my way out of for so long, my back is to it and the cave grows more distant each day.  My eyes are adjusting again to light and joy and the faint pulse of hope, growing steady, and the shapes of others around me are coming into focus.  My story is adjusting, too, from Then to Here, even though I don't yet know what Here is.  And still, still, it's all static in my ears, and I wait for words to come through.  

It's life on the verge, that's what it is, and I kiss the ground, grateful for life outside the cave walls, for the Maker who redeems all things, who brings forth light from the darkness, who gives sight to the blind, who makes all things beautiful.

I will wait. 

. . . . . . . . . . 

Joining Heather over at Just Write, where I haven't been in a long time.  And while, admittedly, this was written more like pulling teeth than letting words flow freely, I'm grateful for this community of writers and a place to know others and be known.    

8 comments:

  1. Amber, I am proud of you. During this time you have held on tight and now given up. You have been through the crucible. God is refining you in the fire and you are more beautiful than ever. I love you, my precious daughter!!

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    1. Mom, as always, your words encourage me on. Thank you for walking with me, for reminding me often of what is true when I struggle to see through it all. I love you.

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  2. I love you and your words. They are worth waiting for. I am so glad that cave is at your back right now.

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    1. Karmen, these words that you wrote to me helped bring this post about: " Writing is a form of art. Art that is from the heart cannot be forced. You have to wait for it to flow. Or like flowers, some flowers open and bloom for great lengths of time and others only bloom or open themselves for small moments of time. They are both beautiful, but the ones that come out less frequently are often the ones that are more anticipated and more revered for their beauty." I will hold onto these for a long, long time. You have much wisdom, friend.

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  3. Amber, so good to hear your words. I resonate deeply with the desire to write, and courage it takes to keep pressing forward even when words don't come freely. Your words in this entry are poetic and and with honest voice. Thanks. It encourages me to continue my one-entry "blog" from last year! :)

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    1. Lauren, I kept checking your blog, periodically, last year, and I hope to see more posts in the future. Thank you for your words of encouragement here - I hope we can encourage each other to continue pressing forward in our writing :-)

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  4. Karmen hit it on the head - your words are always worth waiting for.

    Love this rigorous honesty. And love you, friend.

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  5. Oh my Amber sister, this is so beautiful. I am thanking God for the growing light and for your patience in waiting. This line: "If it is true, I write because I must, then it is also true that I wait to share words because they must be told." You are living and telling a story worth living and telling, all in their right time. You are wise and beautiful, my friend. I am praying for you and loving you from too-physically far away, but you are right here with me.

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