Sometimes, words cascade, a billowing, frothing mountainous river of life.
Sometimes, words trickle, pathetic tributaries, stagnating and dripping in sun’s heat, too exhausted to do much good.
Sometimes, words are too much, then, they are not enough.
And I see them for what they are: words—squiggled letters jumbled or arranged, breaking rules, borrowing spellings, stealing jargon—weak, simple, fragile instruments.
I’m thinking differently about words these days, using them in other ways, and lulling, because the flow turned a corner, the current slowed. Change can’t always be described by words, even if it comes through words. Soul impressions and heart groaning can’t always express in words. There are pains and joys too deep, too far beyond, calling to spheres of poetry, music, drums, or sheer silence.
In the quiet, I hear words spoken by others, those who had a voice, whose cries birthed beauty, through words. So when I have nothing to say, I let them do the talking.
“Lord, High and Holy, Meek and Lowly,
You have brought me to the valley of vision,
Where I live in the depths but see You in the heights;
Hemmed in by mountains of sin I behold Your glory.
Let me learn by paradox
That the way down in the way up,
That to be low is to be high,
That the broken heart is the healed heart,
That the contrite spirit is the rejoicing spirit,
That the repenting soul is the victorious soul,
That to have nothing is to possess all,
That to bear the cross is to wear the crown,
That to give is to receive,
That the valley is the place of vision.
Lord, in the daytime starts can be seen from deepest wells,
And the deeper the wells the brighter Your stars shine;
Let me find Your light in my darkness,
Your life in my death,
Your joy in my sorrow,
Your grace in my sin,
Your riches in my poverty,
Your glory in my valley.” Valley of Vision
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