The endless search for literary insight and cutting-edge creativity will leave our bodies aching to be put to practical use. Although coffee and the internet make great creative conduits, we are clothed in flesh and tasked with the mandate to work.
It is only the imagination that can see what is invisible. It is the imagination that says, “I wonder if there is an equation for making fireworks to discover.” It is imagination that prompts the search and the need to discover and to wonder.
She should not lay idle - for what is the point in that? She should, as the third person sees it, be listening, looking, and waiting on God through a sort of shrewd preparation.
Discipline is the virus I have yet to catch. Many of my peers have contracted it, and some have succumbed: the editors I know work ungodly hours with few breaks. Others make six figures in finance, or write opinion pieces for the New York Times.
Words infuse our lives. They bounce around in our heads. They form on the clean white sheet of paper as our hand scratches across its surface. Or they appear one letter at a time on a glowing screen as we tap them out.
Lamb of God Come gentle to us Already weary Already wounded
Another hour has run its course; Another day has found its end.
We count weeks in chocolates and candles To put us in a mood of waiting For a guest who has always been there.
As pure beams of morning infiltrate your window