As sunset light fades

Then there was the day that got away from me and I didn’t pick up my journal until after sunset, and it was late spring so sunset was kind of past my bedtime, but I made a commitment to the journal, and so I sat down and scribbled:

What could I possibly bring into existence now, as my brain is telling me to turn out the light?

Perhaps in Transylvania a young woman paces the platform waiting for the train that she hopes will take her to another city by daybreak. 

Perhaps an ice cream vendor accidentally mixed two flavors that inexplicably combined into the most delicious blend since vanilla, chocolate and strawberry.

Perhaps a young man is on the cusp of making a life-changing decision about the young woman he thinks he loves. 

Perhaps a lonely man stands over his wife’s grave and tries to explain why he could have loved her better.

Will I come back to this page someday and see the germ of a story I could have written, or will I see the seeds of a story I did write and am ever grateful for the spark? In all likelihood whatever I pull from tonight’s musing will not live forever, but I will have gained one more consecutive day of writing at least three pages in this journal. God bless streaks; they take on a life of their own and guilt us into action.

“Just a few more lines,” he whispered. “I have a quota to fill, and I’m almost there.”

Suddenly a face like a cartoon bear filled his field of vision.

Confused, he stammered, “What is THIS all about?”

“I am the ghost of goofy visions,” said the bearish face. “I’m here to make sure you remember to be silly sometimes.”

“Thank you, dear ghost,” he said with honest gratitude. “I had almost forgotten to be preposterous. I feel much better now.”

“Well …” he paused at the precipice before diving into the Well of Deep Thought, which made for a breathtaking finish to an otherwise average day.

“Who or what was that?” said one stranger to another.

“I would guess we’ll never know,” said the other.

Not quitting time

Have I said enough? Or have I said it all?

Did I tell you about the time when — Did you remember to — I’m sure I mentioned the two greatest laws are — and the fruits of — and Blessed are the —

I’m sure I told you to check out the Nitty Gritty — and Tommy James and — Jethro — Judee — Linda — Firefly — and “You-know-who Minus Zero.”

Hard to believe, but maybe I have said everything I have to say after a few thousand blog posts and a good handful of decades putting one word ahead of another.

I could hang it up here and you could spend a long time browsing through it all — almost all of it is still out there here and here and here and of course here. I deleted my very first blog, “The Green Bay Free Radical,” from 2005, but my ego won’t let me erase the rest of it.

There’s lots of reading there, and I risk repeating myself even more because it’s very possible that I’ve said all I have to say.

But you know, most of the important stuff bears repeating and repeating. So I guess I’ll plan on showing up again tomorrow morning, and we can do this again.

The best you can do is the best you can do

When we stop asking questions and decide we know the answers, we stop growing, we stop learning, and we stop living. It’s not so scary not knowing. It’s an enormous universe, and arrogance would be required to conclude we’ve figured it out. I have been arrogant and I have been humble, and let me say humble feels more natural. Humble feels more honest. Humble feels more true. Jesus did not say, “Blessed are the arrogant.”

Did I climb out of bed and start the coffee before 4 a.m., just to write one sure honest paragraph? I look at what I’ve written so far, and a small voice wants to say, “That’ll do.” But we were not born to settle for what will do. We are better than “that’ll do.” When we approach our final destination, “That’ll do” won’t do.

Lord, help me live a life that’s more than “that will do.” Let me be able to say, “I did my best.” Laurels came to me, and I tried not to rest on them. I tired, and I may always question if I stopped to rest too soon. Could I have earned a brighter trophy if I ran a little faster or a little longer, or did I wring every last drop of sweat from my body?

What more could I do? What more can I do? Those are relevant questions. The road still lies ahead, the race is not done, the heart still beats, the lungs still fill and filter and empty.

Here in the stillness before dawn, the sleeping dog snoring over my shoulder, I feel so willing and I feel so daunted. My body is old and tires easily; I am trying to muster the discipline to maintain it in better condition. This earthly vessel could fail at any moment, but it has not yet. My mind could grow dull, or a stroke could fell it, but neither has happened yet.

I would tell my colleagues who were concerned about pending layoffs and other matters beyond our control, “The best you can do is the best you can do until you can’t.” I used to say “until they tell you that you can’t,” but they only had the power to say you can’t act in their name anymore. They don’t have the power to take away your ability or your skills.

The best I can do is the best I can do until I can’t. It’s hard to accept that a day will come when I can’t anymore, but that’s because that day has not yet come. We’ll see if I can accept it when that day comes; we like to believe we’ll accept it with grace, although we also like to believe we will rage against the dying of the light.

Now I hear the first birdsong of this morning; dawn is coming. Creation has matters to attend. Time to rise, shine and give God the glory. I feel assured that for one morning, rising before dawn, I accomplished what I set out to do in this space. Now the challenge is resist the impulse to set the rest of the day aside and say, “That’ll do.”