Our wandering band of merry muses will weigh in this month at All Nine on the topic of “harvest.” Yes, it is seasonally apt, but for me this is a time when the alternative meanings resonate more deeply. Note:
4. a supply of anything gathered at maturity and stored: a harvest of wheat.
5. the result or consequence of any act, process, or event: The journey yielded a harvest of wonderful memories.
(excerpt from http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/harvest)
Here in these definitions you see the supply made available from the act of gathering in an earlier season, the outcomes felt years down the line from efforts made previously. Acts of pure faith yield such a bounty.
And it is at these harvest times (both literal and metaphorical) when the act of sowing is set aside while reaping occurs.
Back in 2012, I started to write a book called “Thirty Cups of Coffee.” I have yet to finish it, but since then I have published two chapbooks of poetry, written hundreds of blog posts, wrote a chapter for a new book on C.S. Lewis, and had my work published in a couple other anthologies. The work of writing the material for all of those bits came seasons before they found their way onto a published page.
Now I am at a season in my life when the writing does not flow with the same energy or rapidity as back in 2012 and 2013. I have spent some time lamenting this fact. But I have come to realize this: it’s simply a season. I now reap. I will sow again. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.
So as an apt closure to this harvest metaphor, I reach back into my supply – my storehouse of words – to share an excerpt from my incomplete and unpublished “Thirty Cups of Coffee.”
Wonder Woman and the Three-Ring Circus
My overly crowded desk confronts me with a mess of poetry books, unused coupons, kid toys (how did those get here?), iPhone, office supplies, piles of reports to review, three different laptops (seriously), and a Wonder Woman bracelet – a gift from appreciative colleagues who are spared the horror of my home office. There’s also the “Super Woman on a bicycle” mini metal-worked sculpture given to me by a client a few years back.
The archaeology of my life tells something other than what I know. It tells of a stronger, braver, more able person – I think I would like her. But I am not Wonder Woman or super girl on a bike. I am she of the self-made three-ring circus. My life does not need to be so physically, disastrously messy. And yet, it does. It is. It seems there is something in me that requires these awesome areas of neglect.
I have resolved many times to be more like my friends who clear their desks off each evening and start each morning with a new prioritized task list. They are very effective. I admire them (even as I grumble under my breath at those “stinkin’ perfect people with their stinkin’ seven habits of perfection… grrr”).
Clearly I am not them. I am me. I am from a tribe of people who walk with feet on the ground, who have messy desks, who love babies, who get confused about religion and sexuality, and who discuss politics by the campfire with a glass of wine or a beer straight from the can. We are less concerned about proper forms than we are about deep connection and great yard sale finds. We are a muddled, jumble of a tribe.
Sometimes, almost by accident, we take a stand against injustice or fly to the rescue of each other.
Almost by accident, I find enough surface on my desk for my cup of caffeinated motivation.
I am inspired to clean. Wonder Woman has arrived. I hope she stays long enough to find a place for these toys.