A Public Prayer For Those in the Bleakness
When I sat down to turn three years of writing into a series of books, I learned things.
As soon as I realised that I had somewhat accidentally written 80,000 words and more about what it takes to create things, what it takes to finally do those meaningful things that we have wanted to do or that call to us… as soon as I realised that, then I began to find patterns in that.
Patterns in what it takes to start, to keep going, to create the conditions for great work and then to share it.
If I had written in the way I thought books were supposed to be written - sit down, plan the book, fill in the plan - I wouldn’t have written about some parts of those at all.
Now, looking back, they are obvious. But I didn’t know that they were obvious when I started.
The first time I really realised that was when I was working on How to Keep Going When You Want to Give Up.
As I looked through the 20,000 or so words that I had written, words that it it turned out were about how to not give up, something showed up clearly to me. A hugely significant part of that - of how to keep going - is about how we respond in the dark times. That’s the final part of the book. How do we keep going even when life is hitting us with things?
And life will hit us with things.
It was obvious, as I read it back. Writing once a week meant that I was writing in the weeks when life was hitting me with things. And those articles are about something that will always sit somewhere in the creative process. Or at least, they will when we create regularly, consistently, over a period of time.
Now that I’ve been writing for a while, it’s quite easy to hide those dark days. I have ideas for articles overflowing off my messy ‘12-minute ideas’ bit of paper. I could just choose to write about an idea I had a while ago, let the stories flow out of me. Allow the creative process to heal and invite possibility and inspiration.
And yet as I stood in my bedroom, this morning, watching two Great Tits enjoying the first buds of spring on the oak tree in our garden, I found myself noticing the bleakness that finds me sometimes.
And I remembered those chapters of How to Keep Going, and why they matter. They matter as a record of me, my life, my creative pursuits. They matter as a reminder to others that the bleakness is real. And a reminder that just because you feel the bleakness, it doesn’t mean you’re not made for whatever you think it means you’re not made for.
It’s just a part of life.
Or, at least, it seems that it is for me.
When life hits us with things.
When life happens, with all it’s glory, guts, blood, bravery, triumph and tragedy.
And so here’s one for you, who are waking up this morning in the bleakness of life.
A public prayer for all of us who experience that bleakness as well as the sparkles.
I wish you sparks of hope in the days to come.
Moments of divine light, shining upon you.
I wish that the little birds, little darlings, land near you, and show you with their eyes and curiosity and feathers, that you are alive.
That the spirit is still here.
That it still flows through you, though you may not feel it today.
Life gives.
Life takes away.
The wind blows, and it ceases to blow.
Tears come, and then stop, if we let them.
Anger comes, and it leaves, if we let it.
A tilting towards the east window of the church, towards the sky, towards the light.
A reminder of greater bleakness, greater purpose, through the history.
May you find sparks of hope in the days to come.
—
This is the latest in a series of articles written using the 12-Minute Method: write for twelve minutes, proof read once with tiny edits and then post online.
Subscribe to this blog and read the archive here.
The 12-Minute Method series of books, written 12 minutes a week over three years, is out now!