Tag Archive: Writing


A field left fallow

For a year, I took a hiatus from writing here on this space.  It was something that I needed to do for the sake of learning about what God had been prompting me to do with my life.  It has been both the most interesting and most difficult year of my life with regards to the development of my character and direction for my life.

I have both missed terribly and at times not even noticed that I was in fact not writing.  The dichotomy of being a creative being and someone who has been working hard at being consistent at not-so creative things is a weird one.  I know that I needed extra space mentally, emotionally, and most importantly spiritually this past year.  My creative life has been used, but my writing has been like a farmer’s field lying fallow for a season.

The concept of a field being fallow is one where the ground is tilled and ploughed but not seeded.  Some equate that concept to being stagnant or wasteful, but after a little time learning how to tend our garden (and now the youth group that I work with at our church), I recognise the importance of letting the soil rest before planting again.  The ground has to be ready to receive the seed, and it must be nurtured enough to be able to support the growth that may come.  Otherwise, it’s a useless and fruitless endeavour.  I recognise now, how important that is.

After my mother’s passing four years ago, I saw with regret all of the work that she wanted to still have done.  It was daunting and overwhelming.  There’s never enough time or enough people to accomplish the work.  There are always ones who need love and care, and there is always service to God in which to be immersed.  I still wince when I think of all the things that she could have accomplished had her time here been longer.  If I am to make the most of my time and efforts, I need to take care of myself like the Apostle Paul said to do…

“More than that, I count all things to be loss in view of the surpassing value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them but rubbish so that I may gain Christ, and may be found in Him.” — Philippians 3:8-9

So I, in this past year, have had much that I could have written.  Some, I know that I will regret never scribbling down.  Some, I know that I am better off for not having spent the time.  However, I do know that for where I am now, there is a smouldering that is not an all-consuming fire to be creative and write.  The embers are still there, waiting to catch flame, but I need His lordship ever more to use it for His glory and purposes.  There are too many other things and people that need me as both worker and soil to be ready to grow God’s fruit and not sow my own thoughts and feelings.

So, today on what would be my mother’s 73rd birthday, I recognise that it’s time to start planting seed again.  My prayers are that if He deems me worthy, that good stuff will grow in the future.  Perhaps I will have another 30 or so years to be able to invest in fruit that doesn’t rot or spoil.

Selah

Like footprints in wet soil, the markings linger

their permanence dependent upon the tracks left

hardening as time moves forward

They show the paths taken, each motion the labour of countless days

confined to mere inches in space

constrained to etches on weary wood

depressions

carved across my desk

Truths cutting through a glossy surface reality

echoes tied to a stained surface

a static past

tethered to an ever moving future

like shadow figures dancing on a darkened wall

outlined in the negative

as idle hands explore and reach

as idle minds explain and teach concepts

instead of searching fulfillment  out

distractions make false impressions

Remnants of divine purpose imprinted

show

the exposure beneath the motions

Heartfelt wood carved by hardened loss

an absence extended

by its existence

an overt redundancy

 

27 July 2013

1:46 am

 

The endless cycle of idea and action,

Endless invention, endless experiment,

Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness

Knowledge of speech, but not of silence—T.S. Eliot, Choruses from “The Rock”

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