Why?

“ Molly, how would you describe the meaning and point of your writing these days?” That wasn’t the exact question my good friend asked me, but close. I wish I could say I had a really succinct, juicy answer then, but I didn’t. And I felt kind of bad about that. Like I should have had an elevator speech kind of answer. Clear. Crisp. Concise. Compelling. I’ve been writing for a long time now, resulting in a book or two, and lots and lots and lots of posts like this, so you’d think I’d have figured it out by now.

However.

I’ve thought about that question a lot, and it has evolved into an even simpler one: Why do I write?

Well, for starters, I’m pretty good at it, and have a nice little award to prove it. I love doing it, and it fills my cup in a way that nothing else does. It is how I make sense of life. Somehow putting words on the page is how I find and express meaning from lived experience. It’s out of my writing that I find myself more equipped to ask better questions, to listen more deeply to others, and to sit with the pain that life inevitably brings my way and the way of those I love.

Writing, then, it would seem is for me more than anyone else. So why do I love hearing back from readers about something I’ve written, and am disappointed when I don’t? Which leads to another question. Would I still write if no one read it? I’m not sure. Another question worth pondering, and I’ll get back to you on that. No pressure, of course, to get back to me…

But bottom line, I’m a better person when I do it. Period. If you don’t believe me, just ask my husband. And being a better person seems like a worthy reason to do almost anything.

(With gratitude to DB for asking yet another beautiful question. Keep em’ coming.

Life Lessons

A friend once told me that I’m always looking for a lesson to write about. I decided to take it as a compliment.

It isn’t that I’m looking to teach others a lesson, believe me. It’s just that I still have so much to learn and life has so much to teach. Stuff just shows up, hits me on the forehead, and I can’t NOT write about it.

Recent cases in point:

A friend is in the process of putting new floors in her house. When I asked her how it was going, her face lit up as she answered, “They are beautiful!” In the past there have been some painfully dark days played out on those floors, but this is a new chapter.

New chapters call for new floors. New footing upon which to stand.

At another home, a new deck was built. The old one had to go as a result of some big-time excavation to replace old pipes. Much life has taken place on that old deck. Memories were made, early morning coffees shared, forgiveness asked for and given, games played, and meals shared. Family, friends, laughter, tears, and courageous conversations make up the beautiful story that is that old deck. That was then. This is now.

A new deck is a viewing platform from which to see with new eyes. Same view, different take.

See what I mean?

Life shows up, hits me in the face, and I can’t NOT write about it.

It’s the only way I know to get the lessons to stick.

Young Love

If I loved Christmas when I was a youngster, I loved Christmas night most of all. That was when the house grew quiet, the fire got another log, and a new world opened up with the turn of the first page of my new book. Every year that new book was the present I looked forward to more than any other. It fed an early love of the written word, which grew into the love of penning my own. It was then, and is now, a love that asks to be fed, and in feeding it, I am the one who is nourished.

What we come to love in life often shows up in our earliest years. Whatever your is, it is a love that deserves to be fed. Feed it well, and you will be the one who is nourished.

A stack of food for thought-Christmas 2019

The Garage Day 5

On this 5th day of the garage cleaning project, new space continues to emerge.

Whether talking about our time, our tasks, our minds, or our souls, uncluttered space makes room for us to breathe.

This is what came out of the garage…

This is what is going back in…

The thing with unoccupied space is that it has a tendency to get filled up again.

As it turns out, cleaning the garage isn’t the beginning of the end.

It’s really just the end of the beginning.

Captivated

Several months ago I made the commitment to a daily writing practice, and there are times when sitting down and trying to put words together well is the last thing I want to do.

I feel captive to the process.

Thankfully, more days than not, it is also one of my saving graces.

Faithfulness to a practice can be its own reward, reminding us of our determination, persistence, passion, and discipline. There are also, I’ve discovered, unexpected blessings to be found in staying true to our chosen course. One of the most surprising for me has been an expanded awareness of the present moment. Every day, images of extraordinary beauty in the midst of the ordinary, and creative expression in the middle of everyday circumstances catch my eye.

Rather than feeling captive to the daily practice, I find myself captivated by daily life.

Morning walk. Radnor Lake, Nashville TN

A trail for slow wanderings. 

A miniature display of equine grandeur...in a nail salon. 

Stairway to heaven (Bell tower stairs, Viborg Cathedral)

Just. Do. It.

 “Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come. You wait and watch and work: you don't give up.” 

~Anne Lamott, Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life 

One of the unexpected outcomes of writing BLUSH: Women & Wine, was that I fell in love with writing all over again. In the process of sitting down and putting words on the page, I remembered something I had forgotten; I love to write.

By showing up day after day at my desk, I rediscovered one of my passions; I love to write.

In honing my craft, I rekindled an important fire; I love to write.

After the book came out however, the flames that had fueled it went out. I was no longer stoking the fire.  

 40 days ago today I made the commitment to write every day. Not ready to begin working on another book (yet), I decided to just start writing. I decided to just do it.

As with any endeavor, some days are easier than others. There are days when the words can’t pour out on the page fast enough. I love those days.

Then there are other days.

Like today.  

And so...

Today it is enough to put words on the page, because when you love something, you just do it.

Today it is enough to show up again, because when you love something, you just do it.  

Today it is enough to continue to hone my craft, because when you love something, you just do it. 

What do you love? 

Just. 

Do.  

It. 

Winter Outside. Winter Inside.

It's early in the morning, and as is our custom, my husband Tom and I are taking time to do a little reading, attempt to meditate, and savor that first sacred cup of coffee. The view out our great room window, however, is depressing. It has been raining for days. Never quite cold enough to snow. Never quite warm enough to melt the dirty white patches underneath the pine trees, remnants of that first pristine snowfall on Christmas Eve. The dismal weather set in a few weeks ago, and isn't showing any signs of lifting. 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

I have an interior sense of gloom and sadness that has settled in, and it isn't showing any signs of lifting either. Familiar with depression, this scares me just a little. It's hard to find the motivation to do almost anything, and the pressure to just do something is building. A month of 2018 is already behind me, and what do I have to show for it? What if the words don't start to flow onto the page again? What if the ideas I've been nurturing never flourish? What if the seeds I've been planting never put down roots and become something alive and vital?  

The view out our window only reinforces my internal dismal weather pattern.

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

Wrapping my hands more tightly around my coffee cup, I say to Tom, "My insides feel exactly like it looks outside". 

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

He doesn't say anything, and my internal ground-fog  settles in lower.  As is his way, he is slow to speak, and when he finally breaks the silence, here is what he says;  "This is the only time of the year that the earth gets to just be. To simply lay there and soak up the rain. It is almost as if you can hear the earth exhale a sigh of relief at the forced rest of the winter months. Nothing to do but quietly receive." Tom is a geologist and has spent his life studying the ground beneath our feet. As a man who has lived his life close to the earth, he has learned to recognize her ancient wisdom, her deep knowing that there is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. 

I try to let his words sink in, and attempt to do nothing but quietly receive the perspective he is offering. Looking out the window again, something shifts inside. I begin to let go of the fear that the sun will never break through my clouds, and find instead a small handhold of faith that in good time, it will. Rather than anxiously hold my breath, I slowly exhale, and find a quiet sense of relief. Instead of grasping at straws, I take a stab at receiving the gifts of quiet and stillness that this dark, gray, and gloomy day might offer. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven. Including this one:

Dark. Gray. Gloomy.

And it is not for naught. It is for the purpose of preparing the earth for what is still to come, nourishing her for the work of the coming season. Looking out the window again it dawns on me that it would be wise to listen to this ancient wisdom. Heading upstairs to my desk I decide that this must be the time to faithfully show up at my desk, trusting that the words will again begin to flow.  It is the time to purposefully water the ideas that are quietly germinating. And, this is the season to nurture the seeds that are too busy putting down roots to show themselves above the quiet earth in which they have been planted. 

There is a time for everything, and a season to every purpose under heaven.

Amen.