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For the past few weeks, and this week in particular b/c it’s Holy Week, I’ve felt pressure as a writer to translate/transform the MANY things going on in my internal & external life into meaningful prose. But the reality is that this process is nothing like baking a cake. /1
I can’t mix it all together, pour it into a pan, put it in a preheated oven, set a timer, & expect a fully formed, consumable product when that timer goes off. If I stick w/the baking metaphor, I’d say a good number of the raw ingredients are still being refined, even gathered./2
The amount of online content available right now is a bit overwhelming anyway. I find it impossible even to benefit from most of it b/c there’s so much coming at me that it numbs me. Instead, I’ve been spending time in the Psalms, 1 Samuel, Matthew, Philippians, & w/my family. /3
I take walks w/my husband, work on jigsaw puzzles & schoolwork w/my daughter, worry, pray, weep, surrender, read good books, stay informed, check in on those I love, watch a little TV, pull weeds, clean the pool, repeat. And that’s what I can manage right now. /4
It’s strange that such a rhythm amounts to sabbath rest, but somehow it does during a time that feels both intensely busy and intensely still. I’m working hard to resist the urge to produce right now. I believe this time is a chrysalis of sorts, & I’d like to honor that. /5
The only thing I’ve been able to create since the pandemic disrupted life as we knew it is this short poem that encapsulates the inescapable sense of absurdity, futility, noise, and helplessness of the moment. /6 https://lifereconsidered.com/2020/04/06/what-do-i-write-in-the-fog-of-war/
