Monday, March 10, 2014

8. FAVORITE WORD




In grad school a writing professor asked each person
 in Wooden Woman’s class why they wanted to write. 
Turns out, this was a quiz,
and included a write and wrong answer.

The write answer: I enjoy playing with words.
The wrong answer: I want to say something 
(i.e. communicate).



Wooden Woman said SNORT.

And yet, it is true.
Love of words, the play of word meaning,
one will not become a writer of distinction without it.

Wooden Woman has been thinking about her Favorite Word.
She bets you are wondering 
what is your favorite. 



No, it's not a quiz.
Yet one condition:
For a word to be favorite
 it has to be true,
favored in all conditions.



Math people say it like this: 
Let epsilon be greater than zero.

Let epsilon be greater than zero
is a cue
that what follows will be proven true,

once and for all, beyond any doubt whatsoever.



Words have power like that.

The math sentence is not Wooden Woman’s Favorite Word.
But her word does something like epsilon.



Beauty, 
Fear 
and Delight, 
all invoke this word.

It is as insignificant and complex 
as a zero.

The Favorite Word is the essence of understanding,
the bones of optimism;
the word embeds itself in laughter 
and black sorrow.



It goes like this:
A woman has decided that prayer
is not a list.

Prayer is not a visit 
to the Ask Me counter.
Nor standing 
at an Order Desk.

Sitting on the ground of her mind,
to be alone in the presence of Almighty,
she closes the door to rushing thoughts.

Shhhh, in the quiet 
she chooses words from a basket 
called Giving Honor. 



The woman sifts through the letters
and easily finds the I.



PRESS

MY

FOREHEAD

TO

THE

GROUND

The words line up in front of her.  



So she does. Literally.
Not because it is her first inclination for honor giving,
she does so because it is 

an act of honor.

What does one say to God in a position like this?

Wooden Woman thinks you might try it.



God speaks to men audibly so seldom.

This woman did not hear an audible voice.
What she heard was a kind of knowing.

Head to the floor, 
everything and nothing before Him,

she understood her Father to answer her words with:
PRESS YOUR HEAD INTO MY PALM.

Ohhh.


*


That’s all.
That’s it.

Ohhh.







*

We make men without chests
 and expect from them virtue and enterprise. 
We laugh at honor 
and are shocked to find traitors in our midst.” 
–CS Lewis
  
  
*



  
    *
  

5 comments:

Craig and Bethany said...

"...the bones of optimism... embedded in laughter and black sorrow."

Yes, Truth traces this path. Woodem Woman's thoughts are so lyrical, like a spiral-graph tracing the truth.

The last picture almost made me cry.

Face to the palm. Love. This. Is. Love.

Brian Miller said...

press your head in my palm...it is a posture of submission...

i dont know that i can have a favorite word...

S. Etole said...

In His palm is written our name.

Kathy said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
thefisherlady said...

it is trusting... just rest in Him
~yes... it is good