Writer's Block, Memoirs, and Eternity in the Forest

I missed May! O my goodness, no blogging for over a month. What happened?

Actually, I started something a little more audacious. Probably because I love starting big projects that are impossible to finish. And so, between working on that, and being married, and working a lot, this blog has withered for lack of words. Again...Blaaaaagghhh.

This has led me to thinking about writer's block. Staring at a blank screen and finding no words has been less and less a problem. Getting to the screen is the problem. I write so poorly, and so infrequently, first and foremost because I don't make time for writing. Such a shame. But at least it is quite fixable.

Oh, I'm glad you wanted to know! I working on a memoir of sorts. I truly believe that Lauren is the best thing to ever happen to me (besides getting Jesus--but that's harder to write about). And I want to remember what it felt like to fall in love with her. So I am writing a memoir of this past year, and the next few months.

Here is a short exert from it:

Somewhere amid a great wood, hidden between many trees, is a clear blue pond, and looking through this pond, on the night of a full moon, you can see all eternity. Love is like this. Most of the time you can’t see the forest for the trees; those dirty dishes, once again, are getting under your nails, and keeping you from the great sex you would have otherwise enjoyed. And a thousand other things are blinding your eyes from a thousand wonderful things you should be seeing in your beloved. You forget that you are the only person in the universe lying next to this lovely woman, and that is a swell deal.

But then comes that clear, blue pond, and cloudless moonlight at the right moment, and you see through everything, all the way to eternity. You see past all the faults, all the neglect, all the poor habits, the terrible disagreements. You see deeper, through the fitful love, the modest affection, the ebbing and flowing romance, straight to the true love: the true person. You see your beloved perfected in deepest eternity. and it takes your breath away. It thrills you right to the center of your chest, and lifts your feet ever so slightly off the ground. 

You don’t see your lover in the image of your own desires and wants. You don’t see her as some perfect and cold creature, completely foreign to you. No, you see her. The perfected her: every potential fully realized. She has matured in the fullest sense, and shines like a star. Those who see wonder--it exhausts and surpasses the imagination.

The gardener who planted the forest put these ponds here too, at just the right places. I’m still not sure how I find them, and find them so opportunely, but it should be no surprise. It is. She has found them too. Now, as I write from the middle of the forest I try to remember what I saw there what she will one day become. I am walking a winding and twisted path, with my lover, and helping her to arrive at some unknown destination. I only know it will be glorious.