my words are stuck.
they come out stiffly, consonants transposed, awkward pauses in the middle of sentences because i am thinking of what to say half a second after i am in the process of saying it.
and they come out smoothly, tap tap tap on the keyboard; pause; backspace backspace backspace, and i’m at square one again.
what do you do when you are a writer who’s forgotten how to write? a wordsmith who can’t fit the words together?
i am not sure how to answer this question, and so i stare at white space waiting for inspiration to sprout like athena from the head of zeus.
but she comes like mentor to telemachus, hidden behind ordinary, veiled by the mundane. and so it is a moment here, a moment there, that, carefully collected, add up to words written about a life and its meaning.
be still and know that i am God, He says. it is my constant fidgeting over words, among other things, that distracts me from this knowledge, and while i am called to speak and to write, i am also called to be still and to know He is God.
what words will name the greatness of our God? and what words will speak His majesty and power to the ages?
but the Word became flesh, john tells us. it is self-evident; it needs not my paltry efforts at speech.
but let the little children come to me, He says, and tiny hands offer words of insufficiency, tiny witnesses of His grace and love and strength, but witnesses nonetheless.