Here is my first attempt at creative writing :) but first a little background. A couple months ago, on our trip through the US, we (5 of my fellow YWAM staff members and I) passed through Sophia, North Carolina and were privileged enough to spend a few hours with the Helser family (http://www.aplacefortheheart.org/). As short as it may have been, just one night, our time with them left a lasting impression on my mind and heart. The morning we left they, Jonathan and Melissa Helser, took time to share about their 18inchjourney, one of the programs taking place on the 52 acres of beautiful backwoods land we’d stayed on. Their website describes it as “a school like no other, designed to unlock the greatness God has deposited inside you,” and explains part of its creative vision as “A forage into the unknown depths of your own heart as you engage artistic expressions that will push you, challenge you, and draw you out. Pursue your art with hands on experience in photography, writing, music, and poetry; explore new spaces in the recording studio, darkroom, and art studio. Embrace an exploration of creativity the will unlock the rivers of sounds, colors, melodies, rhythms, and creativity deposited inside your heart.” There is so much more I could say about this time, but I’ve already written one previous post about pieces of it... All I will say now is that during one of my afternoons in Amsterdam I went outside to journal and collect my thoughts. I was so overwhelmed and aware, in a positive way, of everything going on around me. So many sounds, smells, feelings and things to see in one small area. As I sat, trying to take it all in, I was reminded of our time with the Helsers and their challenge to each us to explore the depths of our hearts, through language, through arts, through music, through whatever means we could think of. Explore for the sake of exploring. Allow the heart to be stimulated in ways beyond what we are used to, or comfortable with. Explore with expression of the heart your guide and motivator, rather than the pressure to produce a finished or people pleasing product. Explore the God given creativity deposited in the depths of each one of our hearts.
Let’s get personal. Yes, I majored in English. I love reading and writing, papers. I’ll write a paper and develop an argument to support whatever topic you give me, not matter how ridiculous. Seriously. But creative writing? Writing “that goes outside the bounds of normal professional, journalistic, academic, and technical forms of literature” (thank you Wikipedia for that definition...). Nope. “I don’t have that kind of imagination,” is what I found myself too often saying... Never before had I even dared journeying upon that road. Until now... I'm on a mission to redeem my imagination and creativity and so friends, it is without any further adieu, I share the first of what I hope to be one of many steps taken as I begin my own 18 inch journey, this time from my heart to this page.
I encourage you to delve deeper and access areas of your own heart previous left untouched. Forget about not being creative, imaginative, or talented enough. Close your mouth and open your heart. Forget what other people might say or think. Close out those voice and tune in His. Allow God to release the things he longs for you to embrace. He is the creator, meaning he is creative. And we were created in his likeness, meaning we also have to ability, given by God, to create. So, let’s get to it :)
Benches.
A man sits on a park bench to the right of me. Loyalty divided between a cigarette and the mouth piece of his telephone. I wonder, if given the right to choose, which of these two his lips would pledge their allegiance to.
Empty wine glasses dance together as a waiter collects them from a now deserted table.
I sit on a park bench underneath a tall and slender tree. Its leaves verdantly boast over me of youth and life, proclaiming newness known only through the changing of seasons.
Voices unified in laugher lift themselves high into the air from the patio of the corner cafe.
A woman now sits on the park bench to the right of me. Off to the side, and away from most wondering eyes, with feet crossed tenderly before her. ....
Rhythmic streams flow from the mouthpiece of a trumpet carving paths amidst the hum of a Saturday afternoon.
A musician strolls confidently through the crowd. A birthday song for one, a marching tune for another. A small cup sits openly in his hand. Will you give? A talent like this cannot go unrewarded. Please.
The woman now sits in the park bench in front of me. Something drew her in, quietly pulling her from side to center. What must she see in this place?
Her eyes are turned down. An empty gaze fixes on the pavement before her. What moves behind those hollow eyes?
Hands loosely grip the small juice carton resting in her lap.
Fingers tap one, two, three times along the carton’s edge; taps too light for ears to hear, but loud enough to speak of unrest. What must she feel in this place?
The woman’s left hand moves gingerly up towards her face. A marriage vow to reveals itself. Fingers unite to adjust the scarf slipping below her chin unannounced. Up again her eyes wander, and lock on something in the distance. For just one moment she seems to lose herself in thought. What must she think of in this place?
Movement. The woman finds herself again. Legs exchange short strides as an instrument is lowered and the musician takes his leave. Worn trumpet in hand, he makes his way from the crowd and towards the park benches, towards the woman. Eyes lock.
Coins jingle in chorus with the casual procession of the musician’s feet.
The woman raises her head to fully meet the musician’s gaze.
I raise my head to fully meet this moment. My curiosity grows as the distance between them shrinks.
Shiny round faces catch the light of the setting sun as coins move from the hand of one to the hand of another. From the pocket to the purse. From the musician to the woman. A brief exchange, with minimal words passes between the two. Opening his backpack, in and away goes the trumpet. Standing with the musician, up and away goes the woman.
A marriage vow reveals itself.
* This came from what I was seeing and hearing around me as I journaled outside our building in Amsterdam. I had noticied this woman sitting alone and a street musican entertaining the people who were eating at the street cafe on the corner. But I had no idea there was a connection with the two until the end when he gave her his earnings and they walked off together. I had started writing about each one seperately then came to find our they were associated with each other in the end . It was a very exciting and encouraging surprise for me, and my pen, and made me wonder how many other things around me are often associated, but I never pay attention long enough to see it. :)
