I love words. I love the way they sound in my ears and feel in my mouth. I talk too much. I use 100 words when I could use ten. I overindulge.
My favorite topics are the inexhaustible. I love knowing that I could talk about God, faith, community, relationship, forever and never quite have it right. Knowing that our understandings are permanently incomplete frees me to explore, seeking out corners and boundaries, drawing a shape with language which will never have all of its dimensions.
Sometimes the terror sets in, and I am mute. What if what I say matters too much? What if I try something out and end up saying something that I don’t mean, and it stays locked in the permanence of words, making me a liar? The words we say don’t exist on their own; they bear thick coatings of connotation and meaning. They matter. And still they are never enough to paint the biggest pictures.
I often joke that it is hard to talk about the Trinity without committing heresy three or four times in an hour. But what choice to I have? There are indescribable wonders in life, and my heart tells me to try to describe, despite the futility. Words used well are gifts and blessings. May I have a heart pure enough that I may use them recklessly without fear.
I found this recently and realized it was a draft of a post from last May. I don’t know why I edited it so heavily then, and thought this version was worth posting.