Stoke the fire of imagination: What the Village Blacksmith teaches

Photo courtesy of stock.xchng. ©2006 Atroszko. 

Under a spreading Chestnut tree

  The village smithy stands;

The smith, a mighty man is he,

  With large and sinewy hands;

And the muscles in his brawny arms

  Are strong as iron bands.

“The Village Blacksmith” was my very first encounter with Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. I was in third grade and my class was memorizing a new poem every month for the year. Of all the poems we covered the only other two I remember are “The Dual” and “Keep a Poem inYour Pocket.”

The other poems were fun and easy to learn, but none of them stoked the fires of my imagination the way that village blacksmith did.

In eight, six-line stanzas we are given a vividly detailed story of love won and lost, of a life that continues on despite the grief, and of the lesson we can take away from one man’s example.

I’ve always wondered if there really was a spreading chestnut tree, if a smithy was nestled beneath its branches, and if inside there worked a dedicated yet gentle man. Was he a friend? Was he an adult in the place where Longfellow grew up? Or was he a stranger Longfellow noticed in passing and became as enthralled with as the children?

Or was the blacksmith just a story after all? A tale cobbled together from bits and pieces of life experiences.

I was reminded of this poem when a friend quoted from the last stanza a few days ago, and it’s caused me to ponder those words, the rhythm, and the purpose ever since.

As writers many of us dream of creating the next great novel. We pour hours into plot lines. We fill days hammering out character descriptions. And we spend weeks honing the description of our fictional world down to the last popping ember.

In the process it’s easy to forget what a story is: a snapshot of a specific moment that conveys the essence of humanity’s greatest joys and sorrows.

I learned a valuable lesson in re-reading my favorite childhood poem this past week: Anyone can create a world in 500 pages.

It takes a true artist to capture an entire life in 48 lines.

Does your writing pass the 3 tests of métier?

For me, writing is the only thing that passes the three tests of métier: (1) when I’m doing it, I don’t feel that I should be doing something else instead; (2) it produces a sense of accomplishment and, once in a while, pride; and (3) it’s frightening. — Gloria Steinem

What does writing mean for you?

I was looking for my old organic chemistry textbook the other day and instead found a book I vaguely recall telling myself I would never look at again once I finished Technical Writing. The book is called Writing with Style by John R. Trimble and it’s filled with academic conversations about writing that I found only somewhat interesting during my junior year as an English major.

The above quote was on the first page I turned to and, after reading it for a third time, I found myself asking two questions. The first was: What does métier mean?  The second was: How can I add it to a casual conversation this week?

So I did what every logophile does when she stumbles across a new word. I looked it up.

According to Merriam-Webster, métier means 1) Vocation, trade. 2) An area of activity in which one excels: forte.

Looking beyond the common definition, I discovered it’s an old French word that is derived from the vulgar Latin “misterium,” an alteration of the Latin “ministerium” which means work or ministry.

All thoughts of sounding sophisticated (and even more odd) at my next public gathering where immediately cast aside. That one word had just reminded me of three things about writing. Three things I used to know, but had somehow lost sight of in the last few months.

Three Definitions of Writing

1) Writing is a vocation, a trade. We hear this all the time, but for so many of us it’s still just a hobby. As a result it is often set aside for something “more important” or is overshadowed by whatever is captivating our attention most at a given time. The people who really excel are the ones who stay focused.

2) Writing is an activity, which by definition requires action. It’s also a strength. Writing is a difficult skill to truly master. It’s something a lot of people wish they could do but, like learning to play the violin is something few ever take the time to really perfect. Those who know how to write and effectively communicate a message are blessed. It’s a shame and a waste to ignore that gift.

3) Writing is a ministry. People read because they’re looking for something to speak to them. Words encourage in moments of doubt, strengthen in times of weakness, and bring passion to seasons of apathy. Words open up new avenues of thought, take us to places we can’t visit ourselves, and allow us to understand the world through the eyes of a stranger.

Does my writing pass the test?

As I sit here I have to ask myself if writing, for me, passes the three tests of métier. How often does it fully captivate my attention these days? Do I feel accomplished when I finish a project, and do I ever feel proud of that work? There’s no doubt that it’s frightening. And I think that right there is what’s hanging me up right now.

So now I have one more question I need to find the answer to. What am I afraid of? Because, for me, it’s time to face that fear.

Eureka! Finding fullness in a moment of emptiness

History tells a tale of how the Greek scholar Archimedes was stymied by the problem of determining if a goldsmith had cheated the king with a crown made supposedly with only the gold the monarch had provided. Like many of us, he took his quandary with him into the bath and our understanding of volume and density changed forever that day.

I had a similar moment a couple of weeks ago. Although the situation did involve water, it didn’t take place in the bathtub. And I didn’t run through the streets naked, yelling at the top of my lungs afterwards.

The Tale of the Water Pitcher

©2011 gjphotography via Bigstock Photo

I’ve always liked checklists for the simple reason that I love crossing things off. It allows me to look back and see all I’ve accomplished in a day. At the lodge, I cross off the same items every day. One of those items is filling water goblets and placing them out for the morning guests. I’ve determined that for every ten glasses I fill maybe one is emptied. The rest go untouched. Why drink water when you have coffee, tea, and juice available?

Because of this, I end up dumping out and washing dozens of cups that have only my fingerprints on them.

On this particular day I had over thirty guests coming to breakfast and the pitcher I had been given to use on my first day filled four glasses at most. Having sprained my knee recently I was acutely aware of how much walking I was doing refilling water pitchers every morning.

That’s when I remembered seeing a large stainless steel pitcher hidden on the back of one of the shelves in the kitchen.

Based on its size I guessed I could fill all of my cups with only two trips back to the sink and I marveled at my brilliance. Little did I know I was about to have an object lesson play out before me that has stuck with me ever since.

I loaded my tray with the first ten water goblets, filled them with ice, and then added the water. A glance in my pitcher showed that I could easily fill another five to ten more, so I set out the glasses, came back to my station and started again. After filling the next set, I looked in the pitcher again expecting it would be time to refill it.

There was still a quarter of a pitcher of water left.

I was stunned and as I set out my second load I wondered how many more glasses I was going to get out of that one pitcher.

One. Two. Three…Seven…Eight…Nine….

Each time I poured I looked inside to check the water level and could not believe there was still something inside. And with each filled glass I became more and more excited.

It’s in our lowest moments that our biggest blessings are usually found.

I was reminded of the widow who had only a handful of flour and a little oil when Elijah approached her and asked for some bread, and how that handful of food was replenished every day until the end of the famine (1 Kings 17).

I recalled another impoverished widow whose sons were about to be taken from her to cover her debts. Elisha told her to gather as many pots as she could find then fill them with what oil she had in her one little jar. The oil didn’t run out until she had filled every single jar, and so her family was saved (2 Kings 4).

And then I remembered a little boy in a crowd of five thousand who stepped forward to share his two meager fish and five tiny barley loaves, and whose gift resulted in enough leftovers to fill twelve baskets (Matthew 14).

That’s when it hit me—I was the pitcher.

I’d been feeling so drained that I wondered how on earth I could be of any encouragement to others and yet, when I considered the last year, I realized I had never witnessed so many moments of fullness coming out of the supposed emptiness in my life.

And that right there was the catch.

Pitchers don’t fill themselves. They are filled by a main source so that they in turn can fill other vessels.

The same is true of my life. I will never find fulfillment in myself. I have to tap into the Life Source. It’s from that connection abundance flows out of my life and into others (John 4:14).

Like the individuals above, it took a moment of near emptiness to realize just how incredibly blessed my life really is. I don’t have to sit waiting for the right opportunity to come around to make a difference in my world. I can be that difference now.

I’ve come to the conclusion that if what I write or do each day affects only one life, the effort is more than worth it. Just as a pitcher can’t fulfill its purpose by sitting on a shelf, neither can I. And like the pitcher, I don’t have to be overflowing to fill a single glass. 

A little bit goes a long way.

By the time I’d set out all the water goblets I had enough left over to fill three more, and still there were a few drops left at the bottom of that pitcher. I had all I needed for the day, plus some!

So there you have it. My Eureka moment won’t go down in history for changing the world of mathematics, and it may never solve any global problems, but it did improve my perspective.

P.S. To this day, I’ve never been able to fill as many water goblets as I did that morning. But that doesn’t mean I’ve quit trying!

The Year of the Dragon

I wish I could properly attribute this amazing work
of art. It was sent to me by a friend and I have
no clue where she found it!

It’s been nearly two months since I joined the ranks of America’s “unemployed” now. Between the holidays, a promising interview process that ended up not going where I hoped, and over a week of being stuck in bed with a high fever and the worse case of spins I’ve ever experienced, my life is finally starting to settle into a regular routine again.

The way I see it, just because I’m not punching in a time card doesn’t mean I don’t have any way to effectively employ my time. In fact, I often complained that my previous work schedule made it all but impossible for me to do what I really wanted to do with my life: Write and have the freedom to make a real difference in the lives of others.

I came to a decision last week when I was finally able to force my brain to focus on something other than the spiraling palm tree in the corner of my living room. I’ve been given a rare gift in the form of time and I could either spend it applying for job after job that I would only halfheartedly enjoy while worrying how to make ends meet, or I could spend the same amount of time looking for opportunities to do what I love.

When it all comes down to it, my needs are currently covered and while there are no fancy vacations or wardrobe makeovers in my immediate future, I can afford a few simple niceties here and there. And really, that’s all I need to be comfortable. I’m also single, which means I don’t have a family constantly clamoring for me to attend to their needs — all of which means that I can literally spend the majority of my day writing without feeling completely guilty about it. Talk about a major blessing! (I also have more time to focus on my youth ministry, which has been another incredible experience in itself.)

As I write this I’m finishing up the final stages of preparing to work on a pretty exciting project with someone I made a random connection with via Twitter a couple of years ago, which has since turned into a friendship. I just sent off a proposal for an article to a youth magazine I follow, and am waiting to hear back from the editor. And I’ve been added to the mailing list to receive the next batch of editorial topics for another magazine I hope to be able to write for. Add to that, I’ve joined a freelance board and have bid on a couple other small writing projects that I hope will eventually lead to some additional lines in my writer’s resume. Right now it’s all speculative, but when a farmer plants his fields he has no guarantee of a abundant harvest either.

I’ve been an editor for ten years now with dreams of being a writer who does more that sketches ideas and has an occasional short piece published. Now that I have the chance to do so I don’t want to miss out. None of this will come easy. It’s going to require all lot of dedication and sacrifice on my part. I just have to believe that this is a dream ultimately worth pursuing day after day after day.

Could I end up falling flat on my face? Of course! Could this end up being an unmitigated disaster? Possibly. But it’s a risk I have to be willing to take. And I am.

I think it’s fitting that the first day of my new routine happened to fall on the Chinese New Year. Though I can’t claim any connection to their culture, it’s a new year for me too. The fact that it’s the year of the dragon — a symbol that represents strength, courage, and fierce determination to me — is an added bonus.

The year ahead will be filled with challenges. But I am ready to face them head on. How about you?  

The Writer’s Focus: Finding and Following My “Star”

For whatever reason, I’ve always avoided goal setting in January. I’m not sure if it has to do with wanting to buck the common trend of planning to do something and quitting within the first 90 days of the new year, or not. (Actually, September tends to be the month that I’ve visualized as the start of my new year. Something I chalk up to a holdover from my many years in school.) But this year, for whatever reason, is different.

Having a little more free time than I’m used to at the moment, I found myself catching up on some blogs I follow, re-reading some favorite books, and just having plenty of time for quiet reflection. It was during this time that I read Dr. Dennis E. Hensley’s Christmas/Writing-themed article “What the Wise Men Taught Me about Goal Setting” on the Christian Writers Guild site.

In it he writes: “I’ve spent years researching what drives a person to strive for something great, never resting until a goal is reached. No lessons related to personal achievement have impressed me more than those I have drawn from the account of the Magi.”

I recommend reading his full article, but for those who can’t, Dr. Hensley’s article contains four points:

Focus brings success

Goals provide motivation

Study to be wise

Seek the truth

I tend to be a bit of a scatterbrain when it comes to writing. I get a great idea, I jot it down, I start the new project, I get distracted by another idea that I just have to get down on paper, I forget about my previous project, I get frustrated that I have so many unfinished pieces cluttering my mind and desk, I go back to the original project, then while writing I get another idea. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

I can set all the great goals in the world. I can study and read and practice. I can seek truth in a story. But if I have no set focus I might as well be tossing multi-colored paint-filled balloons at the walls. I’m just going to end up with a jumbled, chaotic mess.

So, following Dr. Hensley’s advice, I sat down over the weekend and reflected on the various stories, articles, and scraps floating around. Many of them have quite a bit of potential that I hope I’ll eventually get some use out of, but I asked myself, “Which of these am I the most passionate about?” I then narrowed it down further by asking, “If I was told I would only write one story before I die, which story would I want it to be?”

And that’s when I found my “Star in the Night Sky.”

I always complain about never having enough time to write. I am now convinced that part of that problem is I was trying to write too many different things at once. With the exception of doing a bit of contracted freelance writing while looking for fulltime work, I may never again have as much time to write my story as I do right now.

With that in mind, I’m setting my gaze on that star and following it to wherever it may lead me.

Photo Credit: NASA, H.E. Bond and E. Nelan (Space Telescope Science Institute, Baltimore, Md.); M. Barstow and M. Burleigh (University of Leicester, U.K.); and J.B. Holberg (University of Arizona) via HubbleSite