For some reason, after all this time, this is still a favorite post off my old blog. While I'm working on my next post for this blog, enjoy this old writing.
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I finish reading my friend’s creative non-fiction piece and look up. It’s so frustrating: the library is so loud. Her writing had drawn me in to a different world; the sounds around me seem like a rude awakening.
I wait for my other friend to pack up her things. We leave the library and decide to part ways rather than me driving her back to her dorm. I walk outside alone.
As I step into the frozen world, I realize two things. One is that I desperately want to write. In my head I narrate everything I do in her style, emulating the writing voice she has cultivated and made completely her own. She says I do well at editing her papers without interrupting her voice. Though I do not quite understand what she means, it sounds like a good thing. All I know is that her style of writing has commandeered my thinking.
“I passed by a boy on his way into the library. His was wearing shorts. It looked cold. I recognized his face, though you would never have known from watching.”
“As I got to my car it seemed a shame to clear off the snow. But it was more than that: it seemed irreverent.”
I want to write. I haven’t written since last year. I never have time to – or do I just never chose to?
“If I am going to write like her, should I use too many commas and occasionally the wrong homophone?” I know she won’t mind the gentle teasing.
“Should I write in past tense or present?” I am fairly sure she’ll be honored by the homage I am considering paying by writing a blog post. Maybe I’ll even write it up and then revise it before posting it online for the world to see.
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(Who am I kidding? I never revise my writing. I realize that three sentences ago would have been a better place to end my section, but it’s too late now. I also relize that one of sentences I just wrote sounds like my pastor. They actually write in a similar style…)
(Maybe I’ll fix my botched ending to the section by making a new section… Yes. Yes, that will do.
Hmmm… I switched writing styles...)
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The other thing I realize is more “am reminded” and less “realize”: I love this moment. Snow had been falling all afternoon, but it must have picked up in the last three hours: there are multiple inches of snow over everything. The silence is calming. The world is so peaceful.
Somewhere someone plays music a little too loudly. I stand still and soaked it up, my rubber and canvas shoes really too flimsy to keep my feet warm. The peace penetrates my soul. This is when I know God. In the night. In the peace.
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(I know I cannot go on writing in only her style. I realize that by inserting this aside, I break the piece, but I have to be honest. I cannot write something this important to me, this deep in my heart, in someone else’s voice. I can pay tribute, but I have to write as I write. It will still sound like my friend, but I will not force myself to write as she does. If it happens, ok, but it cannot direct my writing. Part of it will be like my friend, part of it like me.
(Do I even know how *I* write? I write like whoever I have read most recently writes. Why do I suddenly care so much about writing? What is happening in my thoughts? Is it just too late at night?)
I go back to writing and hope the reader can reenter the story…)
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I think back to a night not too long ago when I just couldn’t go back to my apartment. It was too peaceful outside. The darkness, cold and stillness touched something so deep in my soul. Instead of turning left to go back to my apartment, I continued straight and went for a walk around the path. I had done this in a week before, but that time it was at two in the morning.
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As I walk, I pray. I pray for my friend who struggles with trials deeper than I know how to understand.
Before I get very far, I stop walking and sit down. I stare up into the sky and just look. Before long, I also stop praying, or so it seems. But this is real prayer. I stare into the sky and just… am. The calm pierces the chaos in my mind. The stress sounds like crashing waves – constant, never ceasing – but the quiet is so loud it drowns the waves out. The paradox is beautiful.
“God. I need You! I am desperate for You!”
I know He hears me. His presence is all around. Even when I cannot feel Him, He is with me. I think about the peace I feel as I walk alone. I know He keeps me from the enemy: I am His.
Then I see it. A shooting star. It would seem like no big deal to anyone else, outside of the fact that everyone loves a shooting star. But it’s more than that. Not only is it the first one I have ever seen, but it screams the Father’s love to me. He knows how to tell me He loves me.
I am reminded of all the times I have asked Him for something similar: a chipmunk to come close enough for me to touch it, to see a deer on the path through the woods. Every time I had known that He loves me and He is calling me, but I don’t get the “sign” I asked for. This time is different. I had considered asking for something, but knew it was pointless.
The shooting star speaks more to me than anyone will ever understand. I think I am crying. (Sometimes I don’t know if I’m crying or not – it’s not that big of a deal to cry…)
Eventually I get back up and continue my walk. I pray about issues that are on my mind. I dedicate this place and the memories that go with it to the Lord. “God, it’s Yours. You gave me this story and You will use it as You see fit. Have it. Take it.”
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I wish I could describe the peace I feel, the way it bores down into my heart. When I get back to my apartment, I sit in my car to reply to a text. When I hit “send” I realize I don’t want to get out. It’s still. Quiet. Beautiful. The calm pierces the chaos in my mind. The stress I continually feel sounds like crashing waves, but the quiet is so loud it drowns them out. The paradox is beautiful.
It seems like torture to get out of the car. I grab my backpack from the back seat and close the doors. Half way to the building I stop. Do I have to go in? I’m not cold – except for my feet. I should have worn other shoes…
I turn around and watch the snow fall in front of the light. A car pulls in and people get out. They talk and laugh, oblivious to the irreverence I feel they show. Only because I know I cannot stay outside all night, I turn and head inside.
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(Originally posted December 9, 2013 on impoloringmyfather.blogspot.com)