Sometimes I ponder what it takes for a person to be resilient--to sustain resiliency. My personality often does not yield itself to being resilient. I need more solitude and sleep than the average person. I require swaths of time to regroup after social interactions. Small talk drains me almost like nothing else. I could spend the whole weekend at home in my study, happy as a lark. Silence rejuvenates me. I bask in staying under the radar. Hidden. Yet this week I've grappled with my longing to be read--to be published. Such paradox. I believe my yearning was stirred when I received a rejection email from a literary journal in which I'd hoped my writing style would fit. I can be like a child playing "hide and seek." I'd like to be discovered, if only briefly.
My personaility, though, serves me well in other areas. I can be quite intuitive, picking up on moods of others--noticing non-verbal cues. Reading faces. I am an astute observer, noting fine details. I am an empathic listener. Curious. I realize these characteristics probably make me a better writer. And so it goes. It is helpful for me to embrace all the aspects of who I am. Hide and Seek. Black and White. Light and Dark.
Perhaps one aspect of creating resilience for living is embracing all of who we are. Surely God feels this way about us. He created such a diverse and gorgeous array of personalities. Like oragami--fold after fold of intricate designs.
Then another email. "We are pleased to announce that your short story has been accepted into our anthology for literary fiction. Congratulations." The same piece rejected by one publication and accepted by another.
I sense that God is highly interested in our ability to see ourselves as He does. This vision, in and of itself, creates resiliency for moving forward in life. This week I read in Psalm 139: 1-6 (The Passion Translation)
Lord, you know everything there is to know about me.
You perceive every movement of my heart and soul, and you understand my every thought before it even enters my mind.
You are so intimately aware of me, Lord.
You read my heart like an open book and you know all the words I'm about to speak before I even start a sentence!
You know every step I will take before my journey even begins.
You've gone into my future to prepare the way, and in kindness you follow behind me to spare me from the harm of my past.
With your hand of love upon my life, you impart a blessing to me.
This is just too wonderful, deep, and incomprehensible!
Your understnading of me brings me wonder and strength.
The dream gave Paul his map.~Acts 16:9
I hadn't been able to shake the dream. It was a disturbing dream. I'd found a wailing baby that I could not comfort. A child so exhausted that she could not rest. "God, what do I make of this?" I prayed.
Days mounted into weeks, and I forgot about the dream until I ran across a phrase in Acts. "The dream gave Paul his map." Who is this baby, God? What does she need? How am I to comfort this child? Am I the one to comfort her? More days go by, and there is silence from God. A stillness. I am attracted to this calm and find I am swallowed up inside it. I sense God's comfort and compassion. "You've been exhausted almost all of this year. You've written about your fatigue in your journals, your blogs. You are the disconsolate child. I want peace and rest for you." I asked, "So what do I do about my wailing, Lord? My struggle? What is next?"
More silence. More stillness. I stay inside this circle of peace. While looking for a book on the side table by my bed, I discover a greeting card welcoming a new baby that I never sent sandwiched in the stack. Photographs of precious sleeping babies are on the front of the card. I think, "This complete giving over to rest and peace is what God wants for me. Be as little children."
I am part of an online spiritual community led by Graham Cooke. I listen to a podcast. Mr. Cooke provides an assignment. Go through the promises you have from God, your dreams, impressions that you've been collecting. Write them down. God will bring to remembrance Scripture; He will remind you of how He sees you. Then craft a prayer that reflects what has surfaced. As I complete the assignment, I realize there is guidance. There is a map. There is direction. A prayer emerges.
Thank you, God, that you desire peace and rest for me--that you meet me in the dry places of my life--go out looking for me to provide grace and rest.
Thank you for speaking to me. Always. Thank you for the dreams.
Oh, God, every day fill me with your strength and courage. Protect me from being intimidated by my circumstances and the chaos and noise of this world. Thank you for silence and stillness. Your gift of peace.
I rejoice that you stride before me and simultaneously are with me. That you won't let me down. Won't abandon me.
Thank you that when you look at me you see someone whose heart is attuned to you. A warrior. A writer and poet. You see royalty. Let me see myself as you do.
Lord, thank you for the assurance of a brilliant future, your promises my revelation. Give me the experience of your presence in greater and deeper ways so that the realities of your goodness become my norm.
"They found grace out in the desert...Israel out looking for a place to rest met God out looking for them."~Jeremiah 31:2-4 (The Message)
"Be strong. Take courage. Don't be intimidated...God is striding ahead of you. He's right there with you. He won't let you down. He won't leave you."~Dueteronomy 31:6-8 (The Message)
"I know what I'm doing. I have it all planned out.--plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for."~Jeremiah 29:11 (The Message)
Just trust your own voice. And keep exploring the things that are interesting to you.~Nikki Giovanni
Recently, an individual who heard I wrote books asked, "How long have you been writing? How do you do it?"
"I don't remember a time when I've not written...or been reading," I answered. "Reading is my partner in writing."
I thought it might be helpful to share some authors I enjoy, as well as a tool I employ while reading to keep my writing life alive...
I'LL READ ANYTHING BY THESE AUTHORS (IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER)
Dani Shapiro
Anthony Doeer
Kathleen Norris
Elizabeth Strout
Anne Lamott
Anne Tyler
Elizabeth Berg
Julia Cameron
Maggie Scarf
Sena Jeter Naslund
Carrie Brown
May Sarton
Eugene H. Peterson
Simon Van Booy
Madeleine L'Engle
I continue to discover voices I like. I attempt to read authors whose writing I would like to emulate.
Another tool I use while reading is creating a list of phrases and words I find. Here are some from a recent list:
"four fingers pressed across her lips"
"pearling water"
"shuddering stars"
"sleet tapping the window"
"youth fallen away"
"sullied"
"blue spokes of moonlight"
"grasses starred with white anemones"
"raging efficiency"
"undiminished"
"serrate"
On average, I read a book per week. I practice the three-page rule. (I created this for myself. I know others, who if they start a book, MUST finish it, even if not their favorite). If I don't engage with the material after three pages, I don't complete the book. My favorite genres are Literary Fiction and Memoir. Thank God, there are diverse genres. Enough for every personality and taste. I enjoy reading hard copy books, so I can write in the margins and highlight passages. I also like audio books, espeically when walking outside. There is much variety these days. No one way is better than another. Go for what suits you best.
Over the years, I've learned that it is important for me to honor what I like to read, even if the book is not a bestseller. Even if its obscure, and no one has heard of the author. Or even if the whole world is raving about a book. If I don't like it, I don't feel compelled to read it. Books that resonate with me, hone my writing voice. I love the pairing of reading and writing.
Currently I'm reading Wallace Stegner's Crossing To Safety.
What are you reading? I'd love to hear...
I wonder what she may have experienced. Mary Magdalene. That first Easter morning. She'd seen the stone rolled away, and the other disciple observed the linen cloth abandoned. Mary stood outside the tomb crying. Did she notice anything different, before she dared look into the empty tomb? Did the morning light appear more radiant? Did a warm breeze graze her wet cheeks? Could she hear the whisper of leaves? She bent to look in, and two angels asked, "Why do you weep?" Did she place a hand over her chest, her heartbeat accelerated and wildly thumping? Was she hallucinating? Two angels robed in white? Did she quickly swipe away the tears and look again? She answered, "They took my Master, and I don't know where they put Him."
She turned around and saw a man standing there, but she didn't recognize him. "Mary," he said. She knew His voice. She must have shouted, her own voice ragged with awe, when she exclaimed in Hebrew, "Rabboni!" She believed and clung to Him. When He gently asked her to let go, did His touch leave the fragrance of resurrection and miracles on her skin? When she ran back to tell the disciples that she'd seen and touched Him, was she laughing now, tears of joy spilling down her face?
I woke this Easter morning, a dark dream had made its way into the night watches. I could feel my thoughts beginning to unravel. "Oh, I felt so powerless in this dream--out of control--cornered by evil and filled with fear. On Easter morning? How will I make it through the day with these awful images in my head?" Then the voice. Like Mary, I recognized the sound.
"Priscilla."
"Lord, it's you." I rose from the bed and grabbed my Bible and read, "Trusting me you will be unshakable and assured, deeply at peace. In this godless world you will continue to experience difficulties. But take heart! I've conquered the world." (John 16:33, The Message). Now as I write this, the shadowy images of the dream are swallowed up in His light, His joy in me palpable. I place my hand over my chest, my heartbeat slow and steady. No fear. No anxiety. Deeply at peace. Perhaps His touch leaves me, too, with the fragrance of resurrection and miracles on my skin this Easter day. The stone rolled away, the linen cloth abandoned. He is risen! He is risen indeed!
May memory restore again and again the smallest color of the smallest day.~Delmore Schwartz
Earlier this week I glanced up while driving. I spotted tissue-thin pink blooms curling up dark tree limbs. I hadn't realized my tightened chest. Yet when the image of that tree entered my mind, I felt the knot loosen, felt my body relax. I wanted my life to be encapsulated in that robust pinkness. I didn't want the memory to evaporate. I didn't want that emotional stillness to end. Let me stay here. Let me string this moment into a chain of days. I wanted that calm to decimate chaos, comparison, competition, climate change and the tyranny of the urgent. Just let me off for a time. Let me off this spinning wheel.
Was this a prayer of supplication? Was this lament?
What am I to learn when I feel this way? How do I see things? How does God see things?
I often hold on to doubt. I create walls. I get stuck. I dwell on circumstances. I live in fear. I expect the worst.
And God? I think He would say, "I am for you. I easily create pathways through the issues and concerns that scare you and bring you anxiety. You can relax and lean on me. I provide wisdom and rest. Circumstances are not your primary focus, but rather my extravagant grace. My cathedral of peace inhabits your heart. I have moments for you each day, moments like seeing the spring pink on the tree. You don't have to hoard those events and observations. They are there each day, and when you are at rest, you'll see more and more of them. Do not panic. Do not worry. Enjoy each day."
"Yes, God," I say, "Yes. I need so much review of your truth."
I sit in the sun on my back porch, drinking a fresh cup of triple chocolate-flavored coffee. I look up and see trees swaying in the breeze. "God, let me be like the river birches who lithely bend and breathe and stretch. Rejoicing. Singing." Something drifts from the sky and lands on my open book. It is a single pink petal, the smallest color sent to restore my memory.