Revisit, rethink, rewrite the whole thing.
About once a year, I pull out the blue file folder. You know, the one stuffed inside the other blue-glitter-star folder that’s stuffed inside the navy blue binder that’s sitting on my shelf beside the huge, black, duct-taped binder that I refuse to replace. I add to it (the blue file folder) periodically as I clean out my desk, my notebooks, my Bible, my truck, my…world. It is overflowing (hence it is twice stuffed) with snippets of songs and poems and ideas that could–with the attention I struggle to give them–become songs and poems.
I know. I’m rambling. Try to stay with me a little longer.
I sift through it, looking for…I’m not sure what. Memories? Odd phrases? Something pliable? Something familiar? Sometimes I go in with an idea. My thought process is something like this:
Sar–remember when you went to Covered Road in Atlantic Mine that Autumn when Jenn had to crawl through the window of your car? You laid on the ground and stared up at the colors and were mesmerized? Right. There was a Sh*pko receipt in your pocket (remember? You bought a new pair of jeans from Sh*pko just to drive to Houghton to see the colors because you had been working and hadn’t done laundry). You wrote a short verse on the back of that Sh*pko receipt.
And thus–I need to find the Sh*pko receipt. I know. It’s a messed-up system. But it works for me. Or…it doesn’t give me too much grief, anyway!
But more often than not, I don’t go looking for anything; I just go looking. I just need the familiarity of my own words. I’ve been eyeing the binder-folder-folder for at least a week now. With everything in my life so haywire right now, I needed…I wanted something unmistakeably me.
And here, I share two of those “unmistakeably me’s” with you.
Poem – 06.02.2007 :
Without the night, can you know the dawn?
Without silence, can you know the joy of song?
Without despair, can you know peace?
I thank You, Lord, for all of these.
For the day I was broken, and when I was made whole;
For all I have learned, and all I still don’t know;
For all of the doubt that helps me believe,
I thank You, Jesus, for all of these.
Poem Fragment – 01.29.2007 :
Gently he holds her, softly they speak
The hum of the fire lulls them almost to sleep
She’s so content just to be in his arms
And he’s so content, knowing he holds her heart
And what more could they want?
Such a blessing, after all these years,
to still love.