For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want. — Romans 7:18-9, NASB
Tricksy, False
The longer I work with words, the more I realize how malleable they are. Tricksy, Gollum would say. I have to agree with him. Words are tricksy, false.
***
They can also be true, hence their malleability. James perhaps puts the reality best in his letter:
But no one can tame the tongue; it is a restless evil and full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse men, who have been made in the likeness of God; from the same mouth come both blessing and cursing.
James speaks of the tongue, but written words have the same potential. Blessing and cursing; life and death.
My brethren, these things ought not to be this way.
***
They shouldn’t, but they are. My words are both weapons of war and weapons of peace. Sometimes, that war is for a good reason but more often not: it’s a knife thrust between the ribs, twisted.
I can be a violent person.
***
Paul understood the struggle:
For I know that nothing good dwells in me, that is, in my flesh; for the willing is present in me, but the doing of the good is not. For the good that I want, I do not do, but I practice the very evil that I do not want.
***
This may be one reason why Solomon urged people to guard their mouths and tongues. It protects the soul from troubles and keeps one from falling into sin.
He who restrains his lips is wise.
***
And yet, words can be good. They can give life, make the heart glad. Solomon says this in the Old Testament; Jesus says it in the New.
The secret? The words aren’t sourced in myself. They flow from eternally fresh streams of water. Such words are true, good. They belong, not to this wretched body, but to the One who sets it free. They have been redeemed from their tricksy, false nature and restored to truth and light.
Image: Sara (Creative Commons)
How to be a Better Writer: Be Courageous
Courage is a good word, one we need to get out and dust off now and again to remind us that every word you write down is your assertion and insertion into a world of both thought and image that hasn’t existed until you wrote down that word. Yet simply writing down words isn’t in and of itself a courageous act; it only becomes so when the words and the order in which you’ve placed them aren’t borrowed from the vast steaming piles of clichés we always have ready at hand. – Brett Lott, Letters and Life
Silence the Editors
Every time I start a new piece of writing, be it a poem, an essay, et cetera, I confront my editors. I have my internal editor, the one that wants to nitpick every sentence as it appears on the page. The other editors are external. They’re things like audience and approval ratings. All are hazardous when in the act of writing. They have to be silenced.
Where’s Your Process?
People have described me as eclectic. I assume it’s true based on the variety of activities I pursue and my ability to become interested in almost any subject. If I can find an entry point into it, it becomes mine. I explore it, dig around for a while, get good and messy. I may end up not liking the subject or the activity—cough, cough, ceramics—but I’ve engaged it fully. I made a plan, i.e., a process. I studied the thing, did the thing, laid claim to it for a time. I can continue with it, or I can move onto a new activity or subject that doesn’t leave me in fits of frustration.
Write Right Goes 20,000 Leagues under the Sea
