Untitled Midnight Thoughts

It’s early yet. The night is still deep, yet as I step into the freezing fog to grab a few more logs for the fire the patio is washed in a pale glow. Looking up, a nearly full moon peaks through wisps of silver and I wish the cold weren’t sucking all the heat out of my feet so I could stand and watch a little longer. It’s quiet now, but earlier the frogs were calling out so loud it seemed as if they could fill the pond to Egyptian-plague-like proportions. Stepping back inside, wood in hand, it dawns on me. This is my last night in the stillness that can only really be found at the base of the mountains.

Tomorrow instead of watching the geese and ducks diving into the water it’ll be cars speeding through a street they should be more cautious on. Bass solos will replace the birds’ chorus, and competing television programs and the occasional wail of an emergency will take the place of the midnight chirps and croaks.

And surprisingly enough, as I add one last log to the fire, I find myself ready to go home.

The Writer’s Paradise

I love going for drives. Especially now when the various shades of green are at their most vibrant hue. While I was in college I would commute 50 miles each way between where I lived and where the school was located. At the time it was more economical and I was also working nearly full time to pay for tuition. The only days I begrudged the drives were during finals week when I had exams scheduled for 7am. The rest of the term it was a welcome separation between my school life and my personal life. It was also a time I could reflect.

Many of my early writing ideas came during those drives. Through my windows I could see changing scenery (city, rural, and wilderness) throughout each of the four seasons. I could drive through a mix of lush and burned out mountains and imagine what it would be like to climb to the top and view what was on the other side — away from the highway and civilization. I could engage in long conversations with imaginary strangers, or let my characters create their own scenes, which I often transcribed in shorthand the moment I got to school or home.

Looking back, that was one of the most product periods of my writing life. I was just as busy then as I am now, but that forced down time encouraged creative thought, inspired (responsible) flights of fancy, and helped form the writer I have become. Not a single one of those stories I wrote then has seen publication, though a couple of my poems were chosen for inclusion in an edition of the English Department’s e-zine. However, they did serve as the foundation of my education as a writer. Through them I learned which writing styles worked for me and which didn’t. I discovered the difference between showing vs. telling. And I also found road rage isn’t as big an issue when you’re enjoying yourself rather than trying to get somewhere 30 minutes earlier than you need to.

Gas is more expensive these days, but I do still make it a point to go for a drive by myself as often as possible. I keep the music off or very low and just allow my mind to wander down the curvy back roads of Southern Oregon. There is one road I’m particularly excited to travel again now that the weather has warmed up and the ice has melted. It reminds me of the road Frodo and his friends traveled on their way to the Prancing Pony. In fact, at this time of year, most of the area I live in is very much how I picture Middle Earth looking. It really is a writer’s paradise.

When mountains loom large ahead

God doesn’t choose the people who are equipped. He equips the people he chooses.

I can’t tell you where this phrase was first coined, but my brother reminded me of it yesterday when, in a moment of feeling sorely overwhelmed by tasks currently on my plate combined with new responsibilities being handed to me in the coming months, my office was threatened with a tidal wave of tears.

It’s easy for day-to-day tasks to turn into an insurmountable mountain when I look too far ahead and evaluate everything based on my own strength and abilities. I begin to feel small, ill equipped, and like the last person on the planet who should be trusted with a job of any importance. But then I remember the fugitive who was tasked with leading over a million people out of captivity while keeping them from destroying each other over internal squabbling and reckless behavior. There was the simple shepherd boy who slew a giant with a stone and led his nation to greatness under his eventual leadership. And then there were two peasant girls, one who became a queen and took her life in her hands to plead the case of her people, and another who humbly told the angel, “Let it be as you have spoken.”

These are just four of countless individuals who chose to look beyond their frailties and foibles to step out in faith — and be used to change the world. I’ve come to realize that each of us are called at some point to stretch beyond ourselves, though only a few seem truly willing to do so. How different our world would be if these people had instead chosen to say, “The task is too great and I am too small!”

Perhaps you’re facing the same feeling in your own lives in regards to your writing. A message has been place on your heart or a story on your fingertips, yet you hesitate because you feel like the last person who should be typing those specific words.

A choice has been placed before us. The question is, will I choose to step out and tackle the mountain a step at a time risking heartache, rejection, and disappointment knowing there is One who walks beside me equipping me with all the tools and skills I’ll need along the way? Or will I hunker back and watch while another soul braves the arduous trek laid out before her and wonder, “Lord, what can’t that person be me?”