Idle Hands, Empty Words

I was asked earlier this week about my book.  I informed the person I was no longer writing it.  They told me I should pick it back up.  They told me to write about my depression and God’s grace.  I suppose those are two topics I am familiar with.  I would love to write professionally.  I love words.  I love placing them and arranging them so that they evoke feelings, even if they are just my own.  Words are powerful.

Sadly, I feel myself incapable of the task.  And probably more so, unwilling.

A few weeks back I read a brilliant math article.  I was just enthralled with the ideas in the article and wanted to be a math nerd.  I wish I could share this desire to the full extent.  I downloaded a book on Calculus that I have acquired a few years ago and began to read.  I finished the first page and realized I would never become the math nerd I desire to be.  So I removed the book and abandoned the idea.  I knew it was for the best.  I have an entire mind map devoted to dead ideas.  I can’t even get my Greek studies back on track, how will I get math studies started?

How will I write this book?  If I did, who would read it?  Why would they read it?  What is the value of it?  Of books there is no end, right?

I opened up some old words I had written.  Words from March 2014.  I will share a small paragraph.

I am sure you would like some uplifting word.  I can give you all the words of encouragement you need bar none.  But we do not need encouragement.  We need desperation.  I’m going to give it to you the only way I know how right now – with words.  I will tell you stories of the people I love.  The story of “A” who is lost in her own lasciviousness.  The story of “B” who is lost in laziness.  The story of “C” who is lost in worldliness.  The story of “D” who is lost in anger.  The story of “E” who is lost in hatred towards God.  The story of “F” who is lost in anger and needs love.  The story of “G” who is lost in people.  The story of “H” who is lost and doesn’t care .  The story of “I” who is lost inside cultural Christianity.  The story of “J” who is lost in life.  The story of “K” who is held captive.  The story of “L” who is in bondage.  The story of “M” who is lost in depression.  The story of “N” who is lost in a fake life.  The story of “O” who is lost in drugs.  The story of “P” who is also lost in drugs.  The story of “Q” who is one of countless more people in need of prayer.  Prayer that I cannot give or fail to give or tire of giving.

The most telling part of this for me was the last line.  Prayer that I cannot give or fail to give or tire of giving.  It gives me chills.

There is so much more from that one page (882 words – the program counts them for me).  I imagine that writing will reduce my idle hands.  I have that project I want to do next year but I surrendered that project already.  Maybe I could modify it in some way.  I need to think about words and my Greek lessons again.  Maybe I can pray God pushes me back into it.  Sadness still rules.