I'm learning very quickly that writing a blog takes vulnerability.
C.S. Lewis said,
"To love at all is to be vulnerable."
So, take this as an act of love - I'm loving you by sharing my stories and things I've learned in hopes that they will encourage you and enable you to grow with me.
I'm about to be very vulnerable and share something that people will probably think is silly, or nerdy, or weird.
In high school, I had an English teacher that focused every spring semester on poetry. The whole semester we had up to four poems due every week. They ranged from acrostics to limericks to nonets to villanelles. Well, in that first long semester of forced creativity, I learned that I love to write poetry. I learned the beauty in words, and literary tools - things like onomatopoeia and alliteration. It turns out that I had always used those things but never knew how to really structure them into poetry.
I kept all my poems from those couple of years (only because we were graded on them at the end of the year haha) and sometimes I look back at them and wish I still wrote. But just as with artwork, good writing demands structure and purpose (other than a grade). So, I'm starting a poetry column. It may be silly, it's definitely nerdy, and probably weird, but that's okay. I love you, so here's a little bit of myself.
Written the spring semester of my high school senior year:
All the things I've never done
Stack up, add up, lean over
One on top of another,
The tallest peering from the tower.
How long will it take
To get where I'm going?
As I reach one with my right hand,
My left shoves another
Into the bottom of the stack -
Until all is forgotten, all but
The tallest still laughing from the tower.
On tippy toes, arm stretched up,
It's finally in my grasp.
And taking a closer look
Way up in the clouds,
It's not what I thought,
That distant thing,
The tallest falling from the tower,
Falling, falling -
All the things I've never done.
My response today:
The person who I am becoming
Looks up, stands up, runs farther -
It's in the valley where I first was lifted.
In the dry place, oh how the river ran!
In my death that breath came easy.
How is it that grace
Is upon grace?
Little did I know my Maker,
My heart-taker, is
The One without another
Made me who I am.
And I, not without some falling,
Climb higher still and
Not with empty purpose,
Reach for towers tall, above all
He's not Who I thought,
And good thing, too.
The Biggest, the Good, holds me, always
The person who I am becoming.