A Word About Trying (and Struggling) to Write
Random thoughts along the way
I started a new-ish thing this year. I’m sending out Good Notes most mornings — short bits of inspiration (I hope) or at least something to think about. A super-quick read. You can check them out and sign up here if you’re interested.
I’ve also been working on an essay for this newsletter called, “A Word About Garbage Theology,” but it’s taking longer than I expected. Since I started writing it, my father died and I read Beth Moore’s memoir. Those seem unrelated, but they’re not. My father's death stirred up its own small whirlwind of difficult thoughts and feelings and memories around my childhood, which is inextricably woven around the church I grew up in. My childhood is also woven around my parents, of course, who are not and were not terrible people, but flawed, like most of us. They also happened to be very young when I was a kid and very much products of small-town upbringings in the ‘50s and ‘60s. And then there was this church.
What Beth Moore wrote about Church in her book created another small whirlwind of difficult thoughts and feelings and memories — and well — my essay on garbage theology suddenly became much more complex, more difficult to wade through.
I was late sending out this morning’s Good Note because I was outside with the dogs, in the darkness before dawn. We have a large, fenced yard, but the lights on the back deck only shine so far. I was standing at the edge of the darkness next to our small dog when I heard a frightening wailing and moaning sound. It was definitely an animal and it wasn’t far away.
And it would not stop making that noise.
It’s an understatement to say it scared me.
I quickly called to our little dog who started RUNNING TOWARD THE SOUND. My initial concern was that it might be a coyote (we have those here sometimes) and that it would surely eat her up. I began walking quickly toward the house, calling our little dog’s name, because she usually follows me in. She did. Our other dog, who had already gone back inside, ran out to see what was going on but turned around when he saw us coming. THANK GOD.
With the dogs safely in the house, I ran for my husband, who was about to take a shower. I said, frantically, “THERE IS SOMETHING OUT THERE! You have to go see what it is!”
It’s okay. He’s used to this sort of thing. We’ve been married a long, long time. He got dressed and got his coat and his flashlight. I turned on the floodlights and waited with the dogs. A few minutes later, he walked toward the door, slowly, with his head down.
“Come out here,” he said.
“No way. I’m scared.”
He said, “It’s fine. Come on.”
We stood on the deck and we listened. It was quiet.
And then the sound came again, that loud and awful sound.
He asked, “Was that it? Was that the noise you heard?”
“Yes,” I said — nervous.
He shook his head, more like, “You poor thing” than irritation.
“What???” I said.
“That’s AN OWL. It’s in the tree back there. He’s been there for a year or more.”
I said, “Well, this morning is the first time I heard him” and I don’t know what I thought owls sounded like, but it wasn’t that.
I’ve always thought owls are creepy. People post all kinds of scary owl photos on social media. I can’t help but look, though I know if I saw any of those owls in person I would pass right out.
SEE WHAT I MEAN?! Ugh. Owls.
I attend a very different church now from the church of my childhood. A pastor I love, and with whom I have so many nerdy book and word things in common, is leaving to lead another church. It’s a great opportunity for her (and for the congregation she’s going to), but I will miss her deeply. It’s hitting hard.
Anyway, I’m not sure what this has to do with the owls or my father or Beth Moore or trying, and struggling, to write about bad theology. I guess I’m feeling unsettled right now, thrown off balance by the last month, and on the edge of some fear that’s probably just an owl — but it’s still dark out, and I’m not sure yet.
I loved this so much. I’m so brave and scared-to-death … a big mishmosh of these things. And I must admit I do love owls, though I’m not sure I’ve heard one! Thank you for putting stuff in words on paper/screen and making all of us feel less alone. Talley