I’ve recently entered retirement. The air is free and breezy, drawing me into a comfortable rhythm unknown to me for many years. All the excuses I found not to write have scurried like Arizona geckos into protective vegetation. I feel a peace within my soul that I didn’t know existed.
Its been over a year since I’ve written anywhere other than my journal. The words were always there though. Early mornings would uncover them. Fresh with the kiss of dew, they would sparkle and shine with newness, only to be discovered elusive by evening. And so it went. The day bled into evening and night broke through to dawn. But the past months of my silence have given pause to purpose. Time has allowed assessment of my tiny contribution to the conversation of faith.
The Gospels are replete with the significance of small things. Seeds, copper coins, and crumbs of bread dot and inform the landscape of Scripture. This is indeed comforting to one who has only small to give. God’s truths are deep and full and beyond resourceful with my fingertips only grazing the surface. It’s this dusting that I offer along with my life fragments.
But I am also a bit of a conflict. The same one to plunge into mysteries, loves to skirt the waters of cynicism. I am deeply serious in private but inclined toward lightheartedness and sarcastic humor in the day to day. For these reasons, I wrestle to project writing that is authentically me yet substantial in truth.
So this is my mantra:
I write simply as an offer of warmth amidst the chill of this post Eden world.
This place will be a basin to collect those words; a place to channel the holy randomness of living.