The Words–Why Do I Write?

 

I read things like this and I have to wonder why in the world I bother to blog.  When there is a whole World Wide Web full of entertaining things like this, I can be fairly certain that few are going to read my faltering words.  Well, okay there’s not a WWW full of things that even remotely compare to Ree–she is outstanding!  I wonder if she is as funny in person as she is written down?

But really, anyone who can make barebones lists exceedingly funny is just plain gifted. 

And then I read things like this and tears prickle in the corners of my eyes, and I read Ann’s book and I sob violently at the ugliness, at the beauty in all the ugliness, and I realize that, much as I would love to write words like those that rage and worship and soothe and heal, I can’t.  Not only do I not have the right words, but I don’t have the life experiences.  (Praise God!)

But it does make me wonder why I write.  Having so little to offer, why do I have this love affair with words…this passion to string them together in just the right way, though the desire to express myself is never completely consummated?  Am I just practicing?  Is there some time in the future when God will give me a message that matters?  I wonder. 

All I know is that I write.  I write all the time, mostly in my head, experimenting with the words.  The way they sound, the little nuances of them, the feel of them on my tongue.  It’s all about the words.

And I realize…it’s all about the Word.  Everything in life is bounded and expanded by the Word.  The Word is life.  Without the Word, I cannot live.

Maybe that’s why I write.