Writing, Truth, and Other Important Things

     So my thoughts wander around a lot in this one…I just thought I would warn you…
And also, I wrote this on July 31, but didn't have internet till now, so I wasn't able to post it then.

     Recently I have felt very little need to write, as though I have less to say than I used to.  I still have a great desire to write, but the words simply don’t come.  Perhaps if someone told me something specific to write about, then I would find the words to say and could write again.  But I have not been able to think of anything worth writing about recently.  And yet, I am the same.  And if I am the same, then why do I not feel the same?  Why do I not feel the same need as I used to, and write the same as I used to?  I still feel the same emotions; I feel them just as strongly, and yet the need to describe them is simply not there.

     For a time, I wrote of almost everything – the way I felt, my thoughts; I wrote about people I knew, I wrote about things I did.  I would write about God, I would write stories.  I would write truth and I would write fiction.  And yet, even the fiction was in a way the truth.  For even if the story itself was make-believe, the values behind them, the thoughts and emotions of a character were real to someone – there was someone in the world feeling that way.  Unless something is illogical, it is truth.  Even if it is not completely true, there is truth in it.  That’s the way I see it anyway.  Even if something has been made up, if the values, beliefs and feelings behind it are true, then there is truth contained even in fictitious writing.

     But anyway, back to what I was saying… Although I haven’t felt as though I needed to write much recently, this is something I felt a need to write.  I felt a desire.  And I wrote it.  It’s not the best thing I’ve ever written, certainly not.  But it is writing.  And at this point, I care very little what I write; just that I write at all encourages me.  Though something I do very much wish to write in is my book.  I haven’t written anything probably for a couple weeks.  I’ve done that before, of course, and normally it wouldn’t bother me too much, but I’ve done this so much recently.  I had really wanted to finish it this summer, and I can see now that with only 27 days until school starts, that is not going to happen this summer.

     To be honest, the only reason I write anything like this is to inspire myself to write more.  It used to work, but it has not lately. I enjoy writing it, but I hope as I write that it will give me inspiration to write more, that it will put me in a mood to write more imaginative things…things such as my book.  But lately, it has not worked.  Instead, my mind just wanders from subject to subject and I write it all down and come up with some jumbled mess of words such as what you have just read…

Lost

     This is another poem I wrote, also in November of last year, I believe. Not everyone always understands what I wrote this poem to mean, but it is about someone who is lost at last finding a Savior in Jesus Christ, something about which I am passionate, and which is the theme of many of my poems and writings. For Jesus has saved my soul and one of my greatest desire is to bring others to Him, so that they will find what He has given to me.

Lost

This blinding light is killing me,

Take it away so no one can see

All those things that I regret,

Things if You saw, You’d never forget.

Invisible in darkness,

I appreciate this blindness.

But this light lets You see

Everything I’ve hid within me,

That’s invisible to all but me;

My guilt for this, it is my fee.

Why must I face it?

I can’t erase it.

The guilt inside tries to kill me;

Just destroy me.

It’s myself I despise,

For believing all their lies.

My heart is exposed to You,

But I realize now that You already knew

Of all the things I tried to hide,

That destroy me from the inside.

Maybe this light is saving me,

My eyes are opened, I’ve begun to see –

Though You knew all I’ve done, You loved me the same;

This light alone can take it away.

The Truth About Lies

     So I've decided to start posting some of the poems I've written in the past. I hadn't written any since I was probably fourteen, I think, and then in november of last year, I randomly wrote a poem. Not all of my poems are actually inspired by how I feel, but this was one that was. I named it "The Truth About Lies" and it's still one of my favorites that I have written...if having a favorite of something you have written yourself is allowed...


The Truth About Lies

The lies are easy to believe,
Because what they offer you want to receive.
But in the end they make you cry,
Because in the end a lie is a lie.

Finding the truth seems to kill,
But the truth is just the lie without all the frills
That cover the truth, disguising the lie,
Making it seem like it's worth you time.

You're tired of all those pleasing lies,
Those things they say, that you like but don't find.
Now you only want to know the truths,
And you find that they told you very few.

The truth may bring pain,
But search for it just the same.
Don't live for a lie,
It's not worth your life.

If you look for the truth, you always will find it.
Don't waste your time - you cannot rewind it.

The Inability to Write

     I wrote this awhile ago. I wrote it because I was desperate to write something, as I often am, and yet could think of nothing else to write, something that also happens to me quite often.  I don't always write in this style...probably only because it's just not always fitting, because I'd have to admit, it's my favorite way to write...

     There are few things that I actually hate, though I have many dislikes.  But there is one thing that I hate and despise more than almost anything else, with a burning passion from deep within my very soul, and that is the inability to write.  I loathe with every fiber of my being that moment in which I so desire to write and yet not a word comes to mind, or at least none worth saying, much less worth writing.
     So many times, I have in mind what I want to write, yet still the words do not come.  At times I am able to write other words, though not what I truly desire to write - but that is the lesser concern of the two circumstances having to do with this most hated situation in which I find myself far too often.  The worse of the two is when I do not even care what it is that I write, I merely feel I need to write something, this usually occurring when I am not in the best state of mind, and often need to write to quell the tears that either already fall from my eyes or at the very least threaten to at any moment, and to suppress the feelings of hurt or sorrow or anguish that consume my heart and mind.  And that most hated condition, that of the inability to write, enters my life once more and I have no way to let go my grief as I am unable to express myself.

The Confession

It's been a very long time since I posted anything. I'm not sure how good I am at this...But anyway. I spent about two hours last night, writing a poem. Someone asked me to post it here, and therefore I am. I'm really not sure what inspired me to write this, and when I began it, I wasn't even sure exactly what it would be about. But here it is...

The Confession

In the event that you should find me,

Read me carefully, read me slowly.

I am a letter of confession,

Of dire need and of depression.

There are secrets some would seek;

But I hold those none desire.

I contain tales of the weak

And of one who is a liar.

Though you’ll never know of whom I speak,

For the one who penned me remains unknown,

Read, and find that which you do not seek,

So in my knowledge I will not be alone.

On this paper, stained with tears,

And in this ink, filled with fears,

I bring you a tale of dark mystery

From not so ancient history.

It tells of a battle of a soul;

In itself it did fight.

Within its dark and empty hole,

The darkness fought the light.

The darkness within never ceased to fight,

And the light’s existence it forever denied.

This soul lived in blackness and self-obsession,

Convinced of satisfaction with its possession.

For the darkness possessed it

And its attention arrested.

It saw the light as a distraction

Away from true satisfaction.

But even with a life that seemed so perfect,

The soul was unsatisfied still

And after endless nights of torment,

It sought the light it had desired to kill.

The light claimed possession

Of a soul in dire need.

The darkness went into recession,

And the soul was finally freed.

Released from its possessor,

It not becomes this confessor.

For the darkness in which it formerly hid,

Of it this soul is now eternally rid.

And now this soul’s deepest confession:

When filled with darkness and depression,

The light it continuously fought,

When this soul to save was all it sought.

The Origin of Evil

     This was what I was thinking about today and I decided to write it down, so I thought I would post it here.

     Without the existence of evil, how can there be good?  Therefore, did God create the evil in the world as well?  And if He did not, then who did create it?  Who else has the power to create?  Satan was the “origin” of evil, but if we accredit him with the creation of evil, is that not taking away the sovereignty of God?  The word “create” is defined as “to bring something into existence.”  If one being that was created itself can also bring something into existence from nothing, then who is to say that we all can’t?  And if all have this ability, then who is the Lord that He should be God?  I believe that although God did not create evil itself, for everything He made was good, I believe that He allowed the ability for us to do evil.  He created the choice that we all have to make between good and evil, a choice that we face every day.  When we choose the wrong thing – when we choose evil over good – the evil actions we commit and the consequences of those actions are a result of the choice that God created.  In other words, the evil that comes when we sin is a product of the choice.  God did not create the evil, nor did we.  It is a result of something God created that we have twisted and used in a wrong way.  We could always choose the good, which is what God intended for us to do, but we don’t always, and this results in evil.  God provided us with this choice between the two, because without it, it would mean nothing that we always followed Him.  We could do nothing else, because there would be no other option.  We couldn’t love God if we didn’t have the option to not love Him, because He would be forcing us to love Him, which is not love at all.

May 16, 2011

     Tomorrow it will have two years since I began writing something longer than I’ve ever written before.  When I started writing, I had no clue where it was going to go; I didn’t know if I would ever even finish writing it, or if it would be like all the rest and I would eventually run out of things to write in it.  But soon after I started it, I realized that, regardless of if I finished it or not, it was the most important writing project I had ever worked on, and possibly the most important I ever will.  And somehow it made me feel that because of that, I would finish it.  And even though two years later, I have yet to finish this book I have begun, I still believe that I will one day finish it.  I gave this book to God.  I gave it to Him when I realized that it was His reply to the prayer I prayed the day before I began writing – the prayer I prayed exactly two years ago today.  I had stood thinking of all the people who don’t know what I know, don’t have what I have – the people who don’t know God, the people that don’t have Him in their lives.  It brought me to tears, and I knew I wanted to do more than I was currently to show them what I know, so that they could know as well, so that they could have what I have gained in Christ.  But I didn’t know how I could possibly reach as many people as I wanted to.  In fact, I didn’t know how I could reach anyone – I came in contact with few people during that time, and I didn’t know how I could make an impact on anyone’s life, especially with the difficulty I had, and still have to an extent, with talking to people I don’t know very well.  I can be extremely shy.  But I knew that God can do anything He wants to, and so I prayed through my tears for the lost that God would use me however He saw fit, and that I would be able to reach out to those without Him and be able to say what I needed to, even though it was difficult for me.  I wrote down my prayer to Him and the date: May 16, 2009.

     The very next day I began writing a story.  I had come up with the idea for this particular tale years earlier, but that day, I actually began writing it.  I thought nothing of starting a new story, because I started them so often.  I never finished them, but I started so many, that one more didn’t seem like a big deal.  But as time went on, and I began to write more and more, I thought maybe I would actually finish a story I began.  I began to hope that I would, and that God would use it for His glory, as my book is a story about God, in a way.

     One day I looked in a notebook I had and saw my prayer that I had written to God months earlier.  I realized then that I had asked God to use me, and to show me what I could do for Him the day before I began writing the book I now very much wanted God to use.  I knew it was His answer.  He will use my book somehow.  Something good will come of me writing it, I am certain.  Even if I never finish it, I think He would still find a way to use it.  That is my prayer – that God would use this book for His purposes.  I believe that He will, as long as I keep Him my main reason for writing it.  And I honestly don’t think that could ever change.  I want to once more proclaim that I want God to use me – I want Him to send me where He wants to, and give me His words to speak.  I want it now just as much as ever.  I still want Him to show me my way to reach the world around me.  And I think He has.

Cait