Love opens courage steps harm threatens danger waits. Love opens timid stays winds blow through and through. Unlove stands in the way that it does; preying on timid obstructing, obscuring, swirling, gusting. Love moves the way that it can; creating chances opening options softening, seasoning. Love opens minds and hearts, doors and windows. Clearing channels of communication finding its way. Love opens onto a way of saying what needs saying. Love builds by invisible hands which craft and construct, mend and heal. Love dreams -- real as any hard fact so we wait, we hope. Love imagines what can happen when soul by soul together we pray. Where unlove shouts, "Make way!" Love makes a way where there was no way so good can go about its business turning knobs and carrying brides across thresholds. Behold There's a space for the love of God to fill me when I open up; empty lungs want air parched mouth wants drink panging stomach wants food the seeking soul opens for sustenance, moment by moment. Me me Me me Me me the baby birds cry, asserting themselves. fill me. feed me. pick me. Love does
I’ve noticed something different about my emails lately. They’re shorter. The ones I send anyway. Emails have become the new text message. It’s understood, you’re to get to the point. No one has time for you to drone on.
I guess I could consider this an insult. I mean, I’m a writer, shouldn’t they take a minute to appreciate my prose? In fact, no. I don’t have the right to expect that of anyone. Time is precious. Theirs and mine. Why should I presume to take more of it than I deserve.
Recognizing this has had an interesting impact -and not just on my “business” emails. It has wormed it’s way into my personal, ‘you just listen to me’ emails. I realized I am using backspace and cut (without paste) way more often. I find myself asking, “Does he really need to know that?” “Do I really need to say that to her, right now, by email?”
I think this may have started when I began submitting articles to websites and publications. They were gracious, but it was clear I ran on way too long. So I began cutting, leaving the meat and potatoes behind. At first, I plunked the cuts into my “clipboard” where I could see them and keep an eye on them. Because surely such beautiful prose would find its way back into my text somewhere.
But it never did. It didn’t belong. And if I needed to revisit the idea, I found I was the proud recipient of new words, better than the old.
I wonder how often a voice from beyond is whispering “edit, Wendy” and I don’t hear it. Probably because I am busy typing. But bit by bit I am editing what I write. Not just for grammar or punctuation or word choice, but for obedience sake. God knows I want to say it. He even lets me type it and get it out of my system. But who says I need to send it? I’ve said my piece, now hit the backspace button.
Kind of reminds me of the old “write a letter to the person saying what you really want to say, but don’t send it.” I guess this is just an updated version. Feels good.
And it’s amazing how much more impact my words have when I listen to my Editor. Not the evil one that strokes my ego and says, go ahead, you have the floor, but the One that says, speak as if you are speaking to me. Funny how I edit then. And amazing how much time I have to devote to the work that needs doing. It’s almost as if I got a raise, a raise in time.