THERE are days when writing doesn’t come easily, and honestly, it really doesn’t come easily on other days either.
Writing isn’t something like having a magic keyboard that allows you to express yourself on auto-pilot. I can only count with my fingers the few times my text wrote itself, and even then I had to go over it to check whether my text didn’t say anything bad about me.
This is one of those days when trying to be cheerful doesn’t work. No matter how much I coax the lines I have drafted, it’s like pushing a grape jelly cube. All it does in response is to jiggle, and if I push it too hard, it breaks up.
There are many reasons why some days are especially difficult when it comes to writing. It could be there’s no catalyst to generate new thoughts, or it could be personal.
It’s not easy telling the story, for example, of someone in the family of a friend who is sitting at the departure area of Life, waiting for the next plane to Eternity.
Terminal illness can eat away muscle and good looks, energy and sprightliness. You can’t write about that because it could be too personal. But what if despite the person’s imminent departure from Earth you hear report or even witness how bright his spirit still glows, see how he smiles when he sees a beloved daughter come home from abroad to spend time with him?
Wouldn’t you want to share a positive story with people, that in illness it’s not just about pain but also of love, support and even laughter? Wouldn’t you hope that by writing about a shared family courage, you might encourage someone to cherish the last moments with a beloved parent, sibling, or some other loved one in a festive way? Wouldn’t you want to tell people, scream if you could in writing, about how the children of a dying man have come together to give their father memories he could take with him to his last day?
Wouldn’t it be wonderful to let people know the legacy of this man: his patience, his silence when facing crisis, his dedication to family and wife, and his devotion to the Lord? Perhaps you can do that, but I don’t think I can.
I just hope that by posing those questions, anyone facing the possible loss of a loved one will make the remaining time a tapestry of photographs, of the person’s favorite music, of loving care giving, and of having a koinonia masked as a boodle fight at the bedside of the ill relative. Then when it’s over, you can save those memories of love and courage, and share them with others who might be undergoing a tough time.