Loud and Clear

hear it in the stairwell: Radiohead-Thom Yorke Live

Personal Work

I am beginning to write my life story
On blank sheets of paper
The one that I write everyday
Whether or not I pick up a pen
The days: pages
The nights: illustrations
My mouth: dialogue
The years: chapters

Characters come and go
The protagonist which is me
The antagonist which is me

Somedays I lose the plot
And flounder
I can't remember why I dreamed of what I now have
Joyless hours lay about
Like fish on the bank of a river
Gills no longer even heaving
And these are the pages I wish I could leave out
Pages where nothing much happens
Pages where I sabotage myself
With muddled thinking
And lack of will
And the pale pasty flowers of malaise
I paint all over my walls
With the paintbrush called
What if
If only
Instead of
What is

But every writer knows we have to write to find out
We have to write to discover what wants to happen
We have to write to know where the story needs to go
We have to write to learn why we are here
We have to write to find we are not alone

And a few days back I had an epiphany
I am not going to talk about my epiphany with anyone
Because I have a long list of failed epiphanies
That I talked about too soon

But in the meanwhile
Here are a few reasons why I might bother to get out of bed
I can work to serve my future children
If I should ever have any
Give them the gift of passion and persistence
In my own life's work
I can write to bring some heart and warmth to others
However few
I can strum music to make the world a little wider for my friends
I can fling handfuls of muddy joy at a whitewashed church
That all too often misses the point
And missed the point again
A church that would rather be white than alive
I can give back what I was given and let it be multiplied

I want to put on this threadbare tuxedo and serve
Is this not what any good film does
That makes us want to watch our own lives
And take care not to miss the good parts
Any song that makes us want to pull the car over to the side of the road
Any book that someone labored and poured over
That makes us weep and smile together
A painting that makes us breathe deeply
The air sweeter because of its existence
(Close your eyes and still see it)

These are all gifts that were ultimately the work of servants
Whether or not they knew what they were doing
They served a thirsty world a glass of water
The best they could offer
Surprising Jesus and even themselves

There is at times much dogged effort that goes into creating good things
But by mopping our brows with the backs of our hands
And continuing to run after something that we sometimes cannot name
We hope to see our love made physical
Find our feet have left the ground
And hello, we are suddenly being skyjacked by joy (are we not)
And it is fleeting

And by doing the least we could do
We occasionally find ourselves doing more than we knew how
Last first
Lost found
Unbound

Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls,
Roll your eyes:
Now it's your turn