A few people have asked me lately why it is I write the way I do. A friend of Captivate and infrequent peruser of my blog called Tim Cheung me a really good question yesterday. In fact I’m not sure if I’ve ever been asked it before: where do you find beauty? For him lately it was in urban solitude. As a worker in the city he would try to capture in his moments of stillness amidst its hustle and bustle. Moments like the morning fog, the gentle rush of workers to work, the stops by coffee shops and silent commuters on their phones. Before I really had any time to think about it, my intuition responded with, “Words.”
Yet as I reflected on this I realized that it was inevocably me. Somehow, somewhere, as a boy and now as a man, words have come to define my life. When you think about it, it makes sense. In the beginning God said, “let there be light and there was light”. He spoke and it came to be. In the beginning was the Word. And the Word was with God. And the Word was God. And in Jesus, the Word became flesh and dwelt with men. In him was the life and the light and there was no darkness at all. God’s Word, the order and reason and understanding beyond all creation and reality, his perfect revelation of himself, actually became a human being so we could know him. And God continues to speak through his words.
Last year, I often woke up to blurry numbers on an alarm clock. I brushed my teeth in the orange glow of dawn. I showed up to work and didn’t stop till I finished. There was a bite to eat and some time to check my phone. But otherwise it was one patient after another. One person who had taken 2 and a half years to recover from a nerve root compression and could barely balance on her feet or get out of bed. Another person had lost a family friend in a freak truck accident on Sydney’s freeways and her body wasn’t holding up. There were so many demands and so little time.
My body felt spent. My mind was foggy. I didn’t know what I was seeing or where I was going. On the rides home I would just stare ahead on the freeway, a straight gray road and drive in silence. My mind refused to think coherently. There was no way I would’ve thought of putting pen to paper or even writing a decent half sentence. Yet there I was. Sitting on my desk in the darkness completing another paragraph. Why did I keep writing day after day like that?
I’m sure there are more words in the world than there are stars in the sky. Mine are not terribly important nor powerful. I won’t be starting any reformations or overthrowing any governments or inventing any new theories. My voice is simply a drop into the vast ocean of words, soon to be drowned in its watery depths. There must’ve been a reason why I continued to write on those days. It had to go beyond simply the influence or effect it had on others.
I think it’s because of what words are and what they mean to me. Language, writing, ideas; these are all reflections of God’s living Word. These words are tools which create a picture, a way of seeing behind appearances to what’s really there, into Being itself and the God who is there and not silent. Create enough pictures and you have a whole world. Though it’s imperfect, God and Being communicates itself to us through these imperfect words, shaping our hearts and minds. God reveals himself in his Word and we see him clearer through ours, a two way traffic lane.
Being aware of my experience and articulating it makes me more aware of the one behind it, who is with me and in me. During seasons of existential alienation and loneliness, it helps me when I cry to know what I’m crying about and what I’m experiencing and the thoughts and fears that come during this way of living. But then I remember the memories of God’s presence and his comfort mysteriously there. I recall other moments of comfort from others. I discover in my grief, that I am not quite alone. And the pain now becomes an ache rather than unbearable and unending pain. Misery loves company? Yes, because there is a deepening sustenance in the company of those from and with whom we can receive love and care. Through my own words, God’s Word comes to me and agony is transformed. It is redeemed.
When I write I remember reading the words of Pastor John Piper years ago, that “saying beautifully is seeing beautifully”. I think I continue to write not only for the pleasure it gives to others (although that would be nice) but because there exists a depth of my soul that hasn’t fully been explored without expressing itself. That is to say, that only when I can speak of who I am and what I know that I know myself better. And in knowing myself better I also know the One I was made for better. I write because saying clearly is seeing clearly. And I long to see God and myself as he sees me and to know him as I’m fully known. Writing in a way is meditation. Sitting and reflecting on my own words and giving a voice to my thoughts helps me to understand what I think and feel and what I should do. And I think I should write. So I write because saying beautifully is seeing beautifully.