freewrite and prayer

scooters
vacation
fall
fall i miss fall. i am cutting out pictures of me and my husband in the shape of leaves. all that's missing are the brilliant colors that can't really be duplicated by anything man-made. they are unique, every single leaf. i especially love the mix of colors, one leaf that achieves bright red, brilliant yellow, rich green. i wish i could do that, could be many beautiful things at once.

here i sit trying to write an hour and only 21 minutes have gone by, even though I've already written a poem for the day. a poem about my own panic at having the summer wide before me. why is it so difficult to rest well? i have had several lazy days off here at home but don't know how to balance between doing exactly what i want to do, what i feel like doing, and what i should be doing. i guess that is precisely because i don't know what I'm supposed to be doing. chores at home? errands outside? there is a world of possibilities for me but I'm not sure which ones to take. i am used to being around people, talking to people, listening to people, being with people, and here i am alone in this house with only the sounds of the clocks ticking on, and the outside world creeping in through the windows in all its loudness. i want to be quiet, to be restful without feeling like i have to fling myself into the rush of the world outside--ill just spend money if i go out there anyway. but i guess i feel like i should at least be able to read my bible, pray a little to make my day worth while, and those things haven't found themselves a very routine part of my "summer vacation."

why cant i rest? i want to be able to rest, to be with God, or to be with myself without freaking out. do people rest and not do anything, not read, not watch TV, not browse the web, not knit or walk around or sing or listen to music or be on the phone? is there resting beyond doing things that you like to do but normally don't get to do? i mean, what kind of rest is sitting there staring out into nothing? it just seems boring--nearly impossible to achieve! i sit there for maybe 3 minutes before i run off to get my book or involve myself in some activity. how can i be still? is there any value in being absolutely still? how long do i have to be still before something magical happens; before i unlock the inner mysteries of my being and hear my true self in dialogue? or is there a time period that, if you get past it, God truly starts speaking...i mean, you hear his actual voice and then he clear up all those questions you have? why doesn't this spell check accept the correct spelling of the word "dialogue"? i know it exists!

wouldn't that be terrible, if dialogue didn't exist, no back and forth between people. it would be impossible, wouldn't it? our world cannot function without proper communication--well, i guess that's not true entirely because there is very little proper communication in this world but it still spins on and on and people get by. there is so much missing beauty because of a lack of proper dialogue--i mean, a real back and forth session of truth-telling. too often we say what we think we should say and keep behind what we really feel and then its all a dance of who can be the most eloquent and tasteful. what a dance--circles and circles and circles without actually going anywhere, without any actual moves to embellish and perfect the movement. no real beauty...just circling like sharks. mark my words, in the end of bad communication, there is a death.

death. I'm reading in a book in which one of the characters sleeps in her coffin. i am not terribly superstitious, but i think it would freak me out to sleep in my coffin. maybe i shouldn't see it as so unusual, perhaps I'm already living daily in my coffin...i mean, i keep wanting to push time forward...what's next for me, what do i do next year, what do i do this year if, if, if....wanting to know what's ahead when the ultimate piece of information is that i am going to die at the end of one of these stretches of time. why am i, essentially, pushing myself towards it? i guess it wont be so bad, being dead. heaven. there is no fear in being there.

i want to write something meaningful, something really cool (except id like to be able to write something without any N's because the N button just fell off and is cramping my writing flow. but here i am just typing my flow of thoughts, and its hard to see what value there is in just writing for the sake of writing. how long will i be able to keep up this writing every day thing? this is only the second day. i need to go to the library and get a book with prompts in it to help me along.

i read in the book "WRITE" by someone i cant think of right now, that we should write if we have the inclination because no one can say what we can say, but i don't know if that's true in my case. maybe i feel like lots of people are saying what i want to say and doing it better than i am. so what's the point then? i still want to say it, but my reason for saying it is gone according to her.
i want to believe that i have stuff to say and that it is unique and special and necessary.

i don't know why, but i hate relating things back to God. maybe i should do so in this case, though. what does my writing have to do with God? what does he have to say about me writing. i feel like i have a talent in some capacity, and that i have a love for language and for this ability he's put in me. i know i am fearfully and wonderfully made and it includes this writing part of me, this language part of me, this feeling part of me. what does it mean to use my gifts to the glory of God without falling into a trap of being cliche and cheesy and unreadable?
God, what is it you want from these typing fingers and this thinking brain and these words and the mind that is putting letters and sounds and ideas together?
what can i do with this? i want to exercise it, not to neglect it as i have been but i want to have a purpose to do that.

why is it so much harder to write for an hour today than it was yesterday?

a prayer:
papa,
you are my creator. you have a reason for me being here, or else i would not be here. i was a thought in your mind before my parents began to consider me. you watched me grow, not occasionally on the ultrasound screen, but daily, moment by moment. every single time my heart beat, you saw the pulse. you watched the tiny molecules of my organs, of my skin form and grow. you made me, wonderfully. fearfully...what does that mean, fearfully? respectfully? in awe? does this mean that even you were astounded my the beautiful mystery of my birth-of me?
all of this must mean that you care for me, that you pay attention to me. that who i am is not an accident in any sense--even the parts of me that long to be motivated and disciplined but aren't. its not just the me that "reaches my goals and expectations for myself" that you love, right? it is the whole me. the laying in bed reading until 9:30 me; the going through the whole day yesterday without cracking the Bible me; the me whose voice you heard twice this week in prayer as i struggle to talk to you but not doubt you are there. the me with dishonest doubt and sometimes, if I'm lucky, healthy, honest doubt.
what does all this have to do with now? i want to know that every day of me has some purpose, even when I'm NOT accomplishing something. that i don't have to be doing this or that task to be wroth something--that i am worth something right here, tapping away at these keys, eating oatmeal and reading Hispanic literature. i want to know that you are gazing at me with love. how can these things not effect me, not make me want to express something in whatever ways i can??? i want to express these intricacies of me in writing, but i get really frustrated. i am swamped with feelings of inadequacy, feeling that nothing i do has worth, that i am pathetic and my words lifeless and meaningless. just like i feel my day is if i don't get out there and DO something. show me how to use the gifts you've given me, show me how to be the ME you've made me, without living moment by moment in regret of the things I've chosen, of the things I've done, and wondering if i could have made a better choice.
what would you have me do this summer? what would you have me do this day? what purpose is out there for me right now?

let me be still and let you speak--or not speak...but let me be still and shut up so that i can hear wisdom. i am distracted by this pouring out of questions within me, this pouring out of doubt and unrest and regret and uncertainty. i am haggard by it, i am tired of it!