Painted Morning

A few days ago I had an unusual morning.

Startlingly different from many of the others surrounding it.  First of all, I was already on my way to full consciousness when my alarm finally pushed me off the edge into wakefulness.  More of a brotherly nudge than a prankster's shove.  Second of all, the morning seemed brighter.  More light seemed to emanate from the high windows of our cozy basement apartment.  I thought I might be running late, that the morning had slipped away from me and darkling dawn had rushed into day without my consent.

I had worn long sleeves to bed and for the first time in weeks didn't have a chill, maybe I was just unaccustomed to waking up with good blood circulation.  But as I sat up and stretched and yawned I realized it was more than a mere change in pace or renewed health or vigor that made this morning stand out.

God was with me this morning.

Now, I suppose this should happen every morning every day.  I'd like to pretend my life is that perfect.  But to be honest, those few bleary-eyed mornings when I do remember to begin my day with prayer, that prayer too often resembles the exhausted half-baked thoughts and unfinished ramblings of someone still treading water in slumber, not quite ready to leave the REM pool.

 But today, it seems He came to me.

This has happened a few times before, and it startles me every time.  I often find that if we want God we have to meet him halfway.  But perhaps on occasion He gives us a break and puts forth some extra effort on our behalf. 

There was nothing particularly spiritually urgent about it.  No heavenly call, no voice from the sky, no eleventh commandment that I'm aware of.  Just a vague feeling of closeness.


I think sometimes God just misses us.

And so he paints a day just for us. Or at least a morning.


My morning had a fresh chill to it.  Not biting, but a gentle nibble to remind you you're awake.  A sky painted from a Robert Frost poem.  Clouds overhead keeping the cool sheen of the last night's rain slick on the ground.  Darkened cement trying in vain to dry to a brighter shade of gray. A dampened world for dampened souls.  That muffled hush clouds seem to give the air.  Somehow our thoughts speak more clearly, louder in contrast to the quieted world.

Writers live for days like these.  I praise God for quieting the world for my mornings.

S

Get It Out There

A good friend of mine inadvertently gave me some really good advice.  He was talking about his own music career but I took it to heart as a writer, a hat I haven't been able to wear much lately. 

I'll admit it people.  I've fallen off the wagon.

Geez, a month?  What's wrong with me?

Well, exactly what my good friend was talking about when he posted an explanation on facebook about his recordings.  They were great songs, but admittedly not the best quality recordings.  Certainly not professional studio-grade.  But I still enjoyed them.  I raved about them, I saw through the fuzzy recording and saw the potential for great, moving pieces of music.

My buddy relayed some advice he had received from another musician.  Just start recording.  Get your stuff out there.  You're not going to be great right off the bat.  No one is.  Get over it.  Get used to being imperfect, especially in front of your audience. 

Just put it out there.

Sounds easy enough, right?  But how many of us have little side projects or dreams we keep pocketed until we can find that imaginary "free time" we need to polish up and really become impressive?  It's not like I forgot about this blog.  In fact, I had some friends ask about it, a high school buddy gave me a shout out and let me know he enjoyed reading.  I even had drafts ready.  Right now there are about six or seven unfinished posts I've started since my last post.

I just never could get them polished.  I never thought they'd be good enough.  I needed more time, better wording, illustrations would really make it pop.  The excuses go on.  Point is, I wanted the impossible.

I wanted them to be perfect.

I've had some posts I'm really proud of.  I've posted others that you can't find anymore, forever deleted out of shame.  I'm still working on this and not everything I write is going to be "studio-quality."

There's a kids book I'd like to do someday when I feel more like a good writer.  An idea I've had growing and morphing in my imagination for over ten years now.  I sent a few sample chapters to some trusted editor friends.  One got back to me with his review.  It was brutally honest, exactly what I knew I could expect from him.  And after rereading it through his eyes, I realized even more of my own foibles as an amateur author.

Elitist intellectual tone.
Alliteration happy.
Poor sense of suspense.
Confusing narrative.
No fluidity in the story.
No connection to (presumably juvenile) reader.

And that was just the prologue.

But I needed to hear it.  I knew he wouldn't pull any punches.  I see my flaws for what they are.  And I'm better for it.  Granted, I haven't touched the book since, but that's mostly because of my schedule constraints.  Although I'll admit, all the condensed criticism was a lot to stomach at once. 

My point?

Don't let perfectionism paralyze you.

Take a leaf from the book of Mrs. Frizzle. Just put it out there.  That's what my rock star friend is doing.  And that's what I'm going to do.  If my posts seem to ramble, tell me.  If an illustration would really accentuate a point, I probably already know.  Leave comments, tell me how to write better.  This blog began as a way to chronicle our lives as newlyweds, but its more than just a cutesy scrapbook.  This is personal.  This is our lives.  A window into our marriage, our careers, our struggles to work out our bug(g)s and be better for each other and for the world.

I'm back, people!



What are you holding back until you can polish and perfect it?



S