Resonance

I sit here every week or two or three and wax eloquently about some subject or other, crafting my musings into a piece that I deem worthy of posting on this "Carefully Chosen" blog. I tend to like what I say. More often than not, I am confident that my words are true and right, and I hope that what I write proves worth the while of those who read it. Some of my entries come after a few days of pondering, but some take weeks. I love the process: I come across a word or a thought or a story, sparked by something I see or read or hear. Ideas start scampering around in my head, and pretty soon they are jumping, running, pouncing like a bunch of wild animals. Some days I can tame the wild animals, bringing them to a docile state where they can be seen and touched and studied. Other days, I find that I'm dealing with lions who refuse to be tamed. Then, I must be content to watch from a distance, to get even a snapshot that could begin to capture the sense of wonder with which such a creature must be approached. Some days, I write because I have answers. Others days, I write because I need to articulate the questions, and need to humbly remind myself that there is only One who has all the answers. But it seems that with the final punctuation at the end of a piece, the animals are gone. Wild or tame, they vanish. The resolve with which I click "Publish Post" when I finish writing an entry is matched only by the speed with which I forget what I've just written - the answers, the questions, the thoughts that kept my mind on its toes. All is quiet again, but I find myself missing the romping and roaming that sometimes keep me up at night.

This seems wrong. It seems wasteful. It is sad to me that I would encounter these dancing, prancing, roaring creatures and not be changed by them.

But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing. James 1:22-25

This passage had been quietly pacing back and forth in my mind for the past few days; it virtually howled as Eric read it in church this morning. I have been a hearer of the Word and an occasional writer of words, but I have too often failed to be a doer. I have looked intently at my face in the mirror, and even written about what I have seen, but I still go away and at once forget what I look like.

Jonathan Edwards, a Puritan preacher by whom I find myself constantly intrigued and inspired, used to ride his horse around the countryside in order to keep his mind and body fit. He would think about many things on these rides, and in order to remember his thoughts and questions, he would stop, jot something down on a piece of paper, pin it to his clothing, then keep on riding. He would come home covered in little slips of paper, reminders of things to do, topics to write about, questions to research.

I think Edwards was on to something. Part of me would like to take up this practice, pinning verses and words and thoughts to my shirt so that I might not forget what I hear, read, write. I need to start living like these words matter beyond jotting them in my journal or posting them in cyberspace. Being a doer of the word means that these words must be spoken in how I live my life, not just in what I write and quickly leave behind.

May the words I read and write ring loud and true and long, so that they could not be quieted or forgotten.