it has been there for weeks.
it hasn’t been touched, lifted, thrown, dribbled, shot, dunked.
the basketball in my neighbors yard.
and twenty steps away… there is a hoop.
i’ve written since i was young. not always well, but it felt like words just wanted to spill out of me on to paper. my very first poem was an ode to christy h.’s pink high top shoes in 7th grade. in the middle of papua new guinea, a country whose climate and trails devours shoes quickly, they were worthy of an ode!
i stumble over words when i speak. unclear, tied up…as if someone has a foot on the hose and water is coming out in weak spurts, not reaching it’s destination.
but when i write, they flow…full pressure. watering, cleaning, filling… it feels like one of the few things i don’t have to walk uphill to accomplish.
but i stopped writing. turned the water off at the wall. wrapped the hose up and put it away in the shed in a neat coil pile.
somewhere in the middle of:
growing up and learning to be grown up,
leaving behind childhood to raise children,
looking for love to tending it,
getting a life to living a life,
…i left writing in the shed. in the neighbors yard.
and then one day god whispered… pick it up. this is part of who you are. it was not intended to be left behind…
and the words flowed. because the source had never run dry. he doesn’t run dry.
I can do all things through him who strengthens me. (philippians 4:13, ESV)
i hope this reminds you of your basketball. and that you pick it up.
…what you love
…what comes naturally
…what spills out of you
because right over there…is a hoop.