I will make art whether or not I get a thing on the page
and when I cannot imagine I’ll have another thing to say,
because sometimes art is seeing and listening,
and not fingertips producing more.
I’m not just a writer when I feel like one,
lines easy and metaphors solid.
Something’s written across my insides when I pray for new eyes and ears,
and then see and hear
(and when I don’t? I’m a writer then, too).
I will see art, and it takes shape in acts of faith and a desire for wonder
that removes the haze so I can notice the way my little person
holds that tennis racket,
smallest one on the court, and it is beauty.
And I can hear the laughter of my daughter and my mother, recognize we’re giggling at all the same things.
I can see the way my youngest girl smiles so free,
how my middlest holds up old man beard-lichen to her chin and
tromps through a stream like the explorer she is.
I can recall the graceful curve of my oldest’s arms on the giant trampoline
and the delicate pink and white of the full bloomed rose,
ice cream dripping from a waffle cone,
water spurting from the sprinkler,
small animals made from rainbow bands as favors for
a sister’s birthday party, just because of love.
Writing is my way of saying yes, I have seen and heard wonder today,
and I saw it yesterday, too,
and with hope, tomorrow I’ll see more,
and sometimes I’ll stop in the middle of the almost evening
even though I should be making dinner
to tell you about it.
Connecting through the power of stories written, spoken and lived
Because if we didn’t stop to tell about it, we might just explode, and that would be so much worse than a late dinner or a burnt one, right?
Ain’t that the truth?!
“Writing is my way of saying yes, I have seen and heard wonder today,
and I saw it yesterday, too,” …
Oh Ash! So many reminders to me, I think to all of us, in this post! But this line that I snatched is especially poignant in this moment. It seems that one of the central questions we each need to ask (or that’s Being asked of us) is How Do I say YES? In each of us (it seems to me) is a Yes longing to be spoken. A Yes lived out over a lifetime. Thank God that Writing is (one of) yours! I learn so much from you dear girl! xox
Oooh, Mama, I love that. “How do I say yes?” A good question (for parenting certainly and) for life. You’ve got me asking, What is the yes waiting to be spoken? The no’s can take up so much head space, but how powerful when we can approach life with a desire to live from the abundant invitation of the yes. xoxo
Oh, Ashley, what a gift to hear your voice again. And this line… I wrote it in my prayer journal as soon as I read it…”Writing is my way of saying yes, I have seen and heard wonder today…” How I needed this encouragement in the middle of summer when pausing to write feels hard and forced. Thank YOU, dear friend.
Dear friend, you have such eyes for wonder. I have loved and appreciated that from the first time I read your writing — your ability to see your kids and the truth pouring forth from their living. May you find places of freedom as you write this summer, or as you don’t write! Bless you, love. xoxo
I think it’s unanimous, my dear, this line is a keeper: “Writing is my way of saying yes, I have seen and heard wonder today, and I saw it yesterday, too, and with hope, tomorrow I’ll see more…” You speak to me tonight, as I’m sitting outside in the evening sun, struggling with my lack of words and even my resistance to slow down and see wonder. Your gentle voice calls me to relax and look up and not try so hard for words, but simply behold. Thank you, sweet poet.
Amber, I understand that struggle of forcing them to come, of wanting them to flow so badly, that we become bogged down — and yet unable to SLOW down. Praying continued freedom for you as you see wonder, and live wonder, and write about it when the time comes. Much love to you.
This is so deeply beautiful, Ashley. I love you and I miss you and I’m sending so much love.
Your words here always bring me a smile. I miss you too, love, and pray you’re finding joy and places of freedom in your summer days.
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