Working with Words

I subscribe to A.Word.A.Day and make note cards of the ones I want to remember. Today's word is parisology (pa-ri-SOL-uh-jee) = "The use of equivocal or ambiguous language."

The nice things about AWAD are the helpful pronunciation keys and the fact that the words are generally new to me. Yahoo's daily words from Petersons.com are never new. And, just in case my daughter is reading this, I freely admit that I got the idea for posting the word from her recent blog entries. I've been subscribing to AWAD for months, but had no idea she also subscribed. What's that they say about great minds?

While typing my daily journal entry this morning, I noticed how I like to make my paragraphs end neatly, without orphans trailing over to the next line. It's a habit that I've picked up from writing courses in which the instructors noted such unpleasing aspects of the physical appearance of paragraphs. I don’t know that it’s a particularly helpful habit since it is rare to have control over the final publication of one’s work. Retaining control over appearance of the printed word is part of the reason I enjoy editing newsletters. I also enjoy crafting the general layout, working with graphic design and colors, as well as deciding content. Fitting things together is a challenge that can be more or less enjoyable (depending on my mood, the amount of material, and the pressure of an approaching deadline).

The astute reader will notice that I used the word "crafting" in the above paragraph, and--with Gimli--I want to assure you "that was intentional." I use "craft" instead of "create" to acknowledge that "creating" is something only God can do. When I dimly reflect His creativity in my work, I am only a craftman. He alone is the Creator.

Riding

As I struggle to write both nonfiction and fiction well, I feel like a circus rider balancing with one foot on the nonfiction quarter horse and one foot on the fiction Arabian.

The quarter horse does pretty much what I want it to do; I just have to keep it moving at a steady pace. But the Arabian is full of unpredictable spirit; I have to be hyper-alert to its signals and keep it from veering too much in it own direction and stretching my precarious stance into an unsustainable split.

Encouragement

While I was typing my "Dry Spell" post yesterday morning, my mailman was slipping a small envelope into the appropriate cubbyhole in his sorting case. After lunch I found that envelope in my mailbox and, seeing my name and the name of the sender, tore it open and read the note as I walked back to the house.

It was from a dear friend, an older and far wiser woman, who wrote: "I want to thank you for the excellent writing you are so busy doing. I read and enjoy all that I can find.... Your command of the English language and the succinct way in which you convey the message makes for easy and delightful reading! With appreciation--and love--..."

So often I find that God has provided just what I needed before I even asked.

Dry Spell

Some unusual circumstances in my life have contributed to a writing dry spell. For the past several weeks, I haven't even enjoyed my work. I feel as if I've been wandering through the desert without the manna of creativity falling from heaven.

I am also reminded of the parched bones in Ezekiel's vision. But one can't think of that image without immediately envisioning the more powerful image of the dry bones filling with flesh and coming alive when the Spirit of God breathes on them.

Breathe on me, Lord!

Visual Aids

This morning I reheated one of yesterday morning's blueberry muffins in the microwave. I cut it while it was very hot and as I sliced off a slab of butter, I thought, "So that's what they really mean by 'a hot knife through butter'." Never before had the experience so visually impressed me. There are times when a visual aid puts plump flesh on the bare skeleton of words.

Visual aids can be God's ultimate teaching tools, like in baptism and the Lord's Supper. The sacraments are "visual proclamations" of His covenant promises and His atoning sacrifice.

And, sometimes, after years of prayer for chronic concerns, God demonstrates His love by sending an obvious answer to my prayers. It's as clear as if He wrote my name and His answer in neon lights in the night sky, but it's as personal as if He bent down to wrap His arms around me and whisper in my ear.

His clear answer is a visual aid that shows me His great love and the fulfillment of His covenant promises.

Vulgate

I've been translating the book of John from the Vulgate, and I've been translating it at the rate of a chapter per week. At the same time, I've been reviewing Wheelock's with an online group at the rate of a chapter per week. No wonder I have so much difficulty getting anything else accomplished!

The translation project has been a bit overwhelming, but I have enjoyed looking closely at the passages and seeing how different Bible translations compare to the Latin. I find that I am pretty familiar with the contents of John right now. I also have a new understanding of and appreciation for the value of seminarians learning to translate from the original languages.

I am on schedule to complete the book of John before Thanksgiving. And after the first of the year, I intend to begin another Latin translation project. I have decided to tackle Romans, because I am interested in its doctrine as well as the beautiful comfort of passages like the eighth chapter.

These Latin translation projects are to complete the foreign language requirement for my bachelor's degree; a degree that I hope, the good Lord willing, to receive (after a more than twelve-year marathon) next May from the University of Iowa.

Balance

Among the big things that have kept me from blogging recently is the issue of balance.

There are many advantages to working from one's home, but a continual and complicating undercurrent is finding the appropriate balance in my mind between work and family. Complications increase exponentially when the work is writing. Writing is not the kind of work that can be turned on and off like a light switch. Writing is not simply a matter of being in front of the computer for a set number of hours every day. Dividing up the hours of the day is not as difficult as dividing up my focus.

To say that writing requires a particular mindset sounds too concrete. Writing is not a rigid perspective. The writer's eye must always be observing, the writer's ear must always be listening, and the writer's mind must always be open to inspiration.

In a recent discussion about this issue with other writers, someone remarked that when Thurber was sitting alone at parties his wife used to confront him with, "Stop writing!" And someone else was reminded of the short story by Henry James, "The Lesson of the Master."

In my continued musings on the subject, I've come to realize at least one thing: I am not an artist; I am a writer.

At this point in my life, I do not have the talent or the time that would justify thinking of myself as an artist. I am not churning out novels. I cannot unplug my phone, lock my office door, and spend all day, every day scribbling away in solitude (although sometimes I am tempted). I am convinced that would not honor God, who places a high value on relationships. But work is also important to God, and it is crucial for me to understand my work as vocation.

Writing is my vocation. I should neither neglect it nor squander my work time. But while I'm utilizing my gifts and my time, I must not neglect the other people God brings into my life.

The philosophy is simple; the tough part is daily and practical implementation.

Apple Cider

One of my favorite fall treats is apple cider. A local nursery makes fabulous cider that the nearby Fareway stocks during the fall. I cringe when I pick up a gallon for $4.99, fully realizing how much I would protest if forced to pay that much per gallon of gasoline.

As a related aside: People might be surprised if they compared what they think nothing of paying for a gallon's worth of bottled water or soft drinks (which are strictly for convenience) to what they complain about paying for the same amount of gasoline.

I briefly cringe when I see the price of my apple cider, but I immediately justify that expense by rationalizing that I only buy one or two gallons each fall (the only time it's available). And I console myself with the thought that since I never buy beer and rarely buy soft drinks, I can afford this occasional treat.

Woodpile

This is a picture of the woodpile that Dave and Glenda built. Last week we had only the few pieces in the small stack on the right. Dave built part of the big pile on Saturday and we built the rest on Monday. Now we are tired. We hurt.