the poetic life

The wall was white with a small poster on it – something about the harder you work the more successful you’ll be with some cartoons and such on it. All eyes focused on me, wondering if I would screw up, but not really listening to anything. I certainly didn’t want to look at them while I was speaking. I might forget the words. So I take a deep breath and begin…

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both…”

Though a mere lad in 7th grade, not much has changed now: Memorizing is not my forte. I tend to think visually so unless the words are really memorable in my imagination, they tend to just get jumbled up in my head. I know I’m not the smartest guy, but rarely do I forget a painting or a scene from a film or a beautiful sunset, or sadly scenes from scary movies. My mind runs away with images.

That’s why God made me a narrator and not a memorizer. It’s much easier for me to recount a hi-story than a timeline of events. I need characters to love, to hate, settings to paint, arcs that bend and break.

A Nazarene sweated in sandals, lingered at the wells, ignited synagogues, wept and washed feet, traversed roaring and calm waters with boat and without, spoke on green hillsides, remained silent before rulers, politicized humility, vanquished death…

“Jesus went there, did this, said that.”
The Character/conflict/culmination/catalyst in the story of God.
Incarnation poetically narrates truth for the world.

(and i'm working on that)