Category Archives: Morning Pages

Writing at Christmas

Distraction is the name of the game at Christmas, with so much to do and see, people to connect with, and the inevitable trouble that crops up every time you try to shove so much into such a little space.
 
Yet the word that keeps coming to me this first year in Michigan is deliberate (link here). I’ve written about this word before–and how I finally liberated it from its negative connotations–and it’s stayed with me for months now. It’s shaped my responses to the many impulses and longings I feel throughout each day and week. It takes the place of another word in my former lexicon, a word I avoid because of its associations with too-earnest Evangelicalism: intentional. But this word fits just as well. Life requires being deliberate, even though your best-laid plans will often get destroyed (it happens to everybody–don’t deliberate on it).
 
So many things we need to be deliberate about like setting schedules and budgets and plans, as if we had some control. Usually, despite appearances, we do have some control, and more than we think. I have to remind myself just like intentionally changing my lexicon to better motivate myself, I can reframe and redefine the supposed “distractions” that pull me away from the protected still space needed for writing.



And here, I want to choose a new word for “distraction”: inspiration. What’s a distraction but a chance for God to work in an unexpected way? Not that I’m looking for distractions (except when I’m procrastinating!), but as with all of life, the input/output principle applies here (link here).

I love the clarity of this simple mental model.

There is potential for great good in allowing unexpected input, and being forced to engage with what isn’t planned can bring inspiration if you can remain open and undistracted by the supposed “distraction.” Input (inspiration) comes from any seemingly random source (and frequently does). And of course, being diligent not to get derailed from your larger purpose is a constant effort. But we don’t help ourselves by being inflexible or too restrictive about what influences we allow in.

Especially during this season of advent, waiting, and rest from work, we need to stay open to wonder and the unexpected.
 
Because here’s the marvelous point: output. Once you have a good amount of input, you must exercise restraint to retreat (I also don’t like the word discipline, though it fits here). I’ve got to set a time each morning to get away and write, even if it gets derailed and I have to come back at bedtime. Asserting this practice keeps me bound to the input I get from my selective reading in the morning, and helps me charge up by being silent, gathering my thoughts, and writing, even if only for 15 minutes. I might just capture bullet points to come back to some days, if it’s all I can get. But I reserve this time daily to keep in practice of gathering the manna, and tithing my first harvest of words each morning, or I know I will lose it.
 


Now, I haven’t, and won’t soon practice this flawlessly. But it’s a goal. And this is my grown-up Christmas wish for you this season too, and all through the New Year. With a moderate amount of effort, may you find the input and time to make some output this holiday season. And may it be a still point for reflection and renewal for you.

If you commit to trying this, can you let me know? I’m looking forward to knowing I’m not alone in the hope of what we’ll produce….
 
For the higher purpose. Merry Christmas, my friend.

Mick

Seek Out the other path

This is the way I begin.

There’s no clear path, just a tangle of thoughts left over from the last time I didn’t do this.

Maybe this time I’ll finally remember that regular expression keeps the way forward from becoming overgrown.

One year ago we moved here, to northeast Grand Rapids, and though we’ve explored many places, we’ve never once been down to East Lake behind our house. The way is too unclear and there’s a lot to navigate through before we got there.

But that’s only one of the ways to go. There’s a clear access path just down the street we could take between the houses, and even a neighbor’s boat free to use, leaning against a tree. To others, I’m sure it seems odd we wouldn’t take such a nearby adventure.

And thinking about it now, there is very little keeping us from doing it before the afternoon sun slides south for the winter. Time passes and soon we might not even remember the little thrill of hearing we could do that anytime we want. Really? It’s not even ours…

How many of us forget there are others ways we could go? How many have lost the thread to that inner call to adventure?

The day’s duties will always dominate. The tangle of overgrown paths will easily overwhelm me. But I’m never too busy or tired or mature to seek out the other path and rekindle the spark of discovery.

All I have to do is begin again.

Why Are You Worried?

“Sorrow looks back, Worry looks around, Faith looks up” 
― Ralph Waldo Emerson

People are killed every day.

I have this thought before I’m even awake. A dream, again, inescapable. Unavoidable. I get up and get ready, trying to stop thinking about the reality, not feel it crowding in as I look at my teeth and brush them in the mirror.

The deepest injustice is suffered by hundreds of thousands every day. Death. I drive my oldest daughter to school and have this thought again as the news from Gaza makes it to me. I can’t hear this word without thinking of death. Bleeding wounds seeping through bandages. Protestors have been shot over in the middle east. I think of the high-schoolers protesting guns and hope I’m doing right to not mention the political issues to my daughters just yet.

Is privilege just the ability to ignore what you please?

Yet sanity and self-preservation demand ignoring it. Our hearts and our minds weren’t meant to hold the world’s pain. Jesus walked Gaza but had no cell phone or social media bringing wave after wave of desperate injustice. Inescapable. Unavoidable.

I remember the woman who handled the emailed prayer requests at a big ministry. She was a saint, a prayer warrior. She killed herself and the ministry held a quiet service and sent condolences to her family. And a new employee took her place.

I think of the thousands of people who filter content for social media networks, the reports of their inescapable torment, their nearly inescapable mental health issues. Is this where we’re all headed eventually?

Another hot day and I’m thinking of polar ice caps. A celebratory dinner and I’m considering carcinogenic toxins. Maybe I read too many headlines.

“Do not fear. Do not fret. Trust me.”

HOW? How am I supposed to do that when I’m bombarded even before I can get to work on a Monday? It’s effort just to press on and not feel guilty for working to keep the horror at bay, at least to a dull roar until lunch when I’ll check my phone and respond to emails. And there’s plenty more to deal with–local community, family, neighbors, projects and writers, and personal struggles to choose appropriate responses and time on.

No one could possibly manage it all. And this danged-if-you-do, danged-if-you-don’t situation is unmanageable. Infuriating.

“Count your blessings.”

Despite the dreams and the no-air-conditioning-in-record-heat situation, I did sleep. There’s more light in these longer days and the beauty of spring has sprung. The house and our health aren’t perfect, but they’re amazingly good despite the advancing years thanks to regular upkeep and maintenance. And we enjoyed our moms and celebrated together on Sunday, and the girls are happy and enjoying their lives and music and reading.

Real life is happening and time is short and we’re no better off than when we know both those things. Remember the moment you felt Charlotte’s delight at beating you at the card game? You wanted to remember it forever? 

Yeah. Life is happening and death is part of it. And here were are to enjoy it and make the most of each moment before it’s gone and slipped into another one and another, until there are no more.

That’s every day and everyone and your awareness of it is contagious. Don’t be afraid. Don’t fret. Trust me. 

Can it be this simple? Can I write and do my editing work knowing this is what you’ve called me to until you bring other specific calls? Keep me praying, keep me seeing it all, in the midst of the passing moments. Stay with me and show me how it all is leading me to trust and connect however I can. With words or without. With getting involved or simply praying.

I know the only thing that’s truly up to me is the trusting. Thank you for the continual reminders. Keep me searching for them.

And keep me sharing them and connecting others to see you in their myriad reminders too.

“I trust in you, Lord…. My times are in your hands.” – Psalm 31:14,15

Write on, my friend. There’s always a higher purpose,

M

What Do Your Prepositions Say About You?

“Freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose.” – Kris Kristofferson

pink petal carpet

It starts out as a search for yourself, a part-time occupation giving the journey definition and greater meaning. At least it did for me.

It took a few years to determine that primary pursuit, but once I did, it seemed writing was what would lead me to myself, who I really was. How I got that idea and how I’d get there, I wasn’t too worried about either. I’d figure it all out on the page.

“Now you are the body of Christ, and each one of you is a part of it.”

I don’t know if any teenager growing up in 1980s America was truly able to think about being identified with Christ or his body, whatever that really means, however much he heard the words. A lifetime of Christian teaching couldn’t identify that as the holy grail, let alone a path to it. The desire has to come from within.

And it’d be many years before those sparks became flame, before they’d find dry tinder to burn. Life experiences, limited as they were, would bring the bite and tang of betrayal, regret, and fear. I’m I’m pretty sure you could ask any kid raised in a safe bubble: a man who’s never been separated from anything can’t truly love anything. 

my writing spotIn a real way, I had to get out of the bubble and get over myself to find what in my heart I already knew was true. 

But what I’d misunderstood, what I couldn’t yet know: nothing about writing is clarifying. If anything, writing brings more complication to what’s already too complex. There’s a real disadvantage in making your life fodder for reflection. You can never know what it might have been had you not stood aside to look at your life as you were living it.

And maybe other writers, those not bent on self-discovery, don’t find this, but the work can cripple as much as heal you, I think. If you’re not in the right place. So for me, the writing life is a continual wrestling match with the prepositions–and in some strange, almost invisible way, identifying them is how I come to better identify myself. Or at least see better what I’m identifying with….

…in, with, for, as, after, by, on.

If you’re a writer who wants to know yourself better, look at your prepositions. Pre – before. Position – location relative to something else.

Where am I? Where was I before I started this journey? What am I really after here?

“In Christ you have been brought to fullness.”

lilacsI believe it’s for freedom I’ve been called. I believe it doesn’t matter what lies ahead or behind but what lies within this commitment to a greater cause, a higher purpose, than myself. My own attaining of freedom may have sparked this, but the flame is for a fuller restoration. And the preparation my life’s losses have brought are specific stories that have revealed to me a more universal prize.

Look at the prepositions: Do you believe a writer’s ultimate commitment is to losing all for the glory of the call? Do you believe it’s for God’s pleasure and higher will? For unity and freedom and for the story to be told before time runs out?

“Now, brothers and sisters, I want to remind you of the gospel I preached to you, which you received and on which you have taken your stand. By this gospel you are saved, if you hold firmly to the word I preached to you.”

The clarity will come as you dig deeper. For now, hold on and press in.

“You are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.”

Identify with Him. Believe in Him. Be unified as you go.

“There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

For the higher purpose,

Mick

 

Why It’s So Important to Choose Your Music Before Writing

I’m looking for the right music to set the mood…

…because of course every artist is in training to concentrate more fully on the experience of the movement of their art. Writers train to hear the rhythm in the words. Musicians strain to hear the music in the notes….

So the question is what am I going to notice? What to hear, what to ignore, and how to choose.

But first, how much do I actually choose? Or am I better off accepting that no matter what efforts I make or daily practices I carefully implement, I am mostly at the mercy of unseen factors?

Certainly, my limits are always greater than I realize. Yet how much influence over the things I think about–and thereby become–do I truly have?

Is this what I should be thinking about? I believe how I answer determines what I ultimately believe. And what I believe determines my reality, and influences many others.

So while we can debate how or how much attention we can apply, still our decision of what exactly we believe about all this ultimately changes reality–for everyone, even if they’re unaware. And regardless of my impact on others, this choice matters for my life, maybe more than much else.

The obvious first observation here is that my attention to anything ebbs and flows, like waves, like a song. I’ll only be aware of the music some of the time. And I’ll only be aware of my awareness very infrequently. Oh, but the incredibly beautiful distractions!

Yet within the short time I have, there are specific ways I must focus my attention. This greatest gift of choice God gives everyone in equal measure, despite all the significant limitations we do have, it’s ours to claim or to lose. And if our very ability to choose focus is from God, shouldn’t what we choose to focus on be God?

We know there’s far more to life than an experience of the natural world. Shouldn’t we choose to go beyond our natural experience with the supernatural creator? Wouldn’t that be the most logical, rational choice for his gift of freedom?

There is a deeper music. He is here. Now. Stop and notice. Be with him.

That’s the singular, quiet voice at the core of this call. Oh, nothing in all this world is distraction. Do you hear the singing? And if this is what writing is, then it will be productive. If this is what living is, it will be productive. If this is what any activity, progress, or flourishing is, then we can let go of all we think we have to do today, and simply be with him in every moment.

That will be the measure of our progress. That will become the method for our practice of living aware, and loving awake.

Let it be so. And whatever you write, do, think, speak, feel, hope, want, sing, or believe, may it be from this one resolute, determined choice.

Amen. And amen.

For the higher purpose,

m