What Order of Things?


Let the words fall out. I relax and remove the pressure of producing the perfect sentence. Immediately, the words start gushing from my fingers as I write.

There isn’t a certain order to my writing. There is no method to the madness. Hemingway would always write in the mornings and Maya Angelou would rent a hotel room in her hometown and have all the decorations removed so she wouldn’t be distracted. Maybe I haven’t discovered it yet, but I haven’t found my unique segue into writing. When I sit down to pour myself onto the paper, the words are already there, like books on a shelf, just waiting to be taken down to be read out loud. They don’t need any coaxing or ushering in. They are always there, in the waiting room of my mind, cheerfully or passionately waiting their turn to be written, whatever the case may be. I just write them in the order they appear.

In the way I write is how I live my life. I cannot really explain these past few years that make up a series of moves all over the country. I just placed one foot in front of the other, moved one place to the next, and here I am. I moved to DC because I had worked towards that goal for three years and it was something I needed to try and prove to myself. I moved to Illinois for a job offer that I thought was a dream come true. I moved to Texas for a guy and because it was far away from Illinois. I moved from Texas to Tennessee to be closer to my family and because I did not like where I was in my spiritual life. I left Tennessee because I couldn’t find enough reasons to stay. I moved to Oklahoma in the same manner that I write: It just appeared. Here I am.

To an outsider, it may all seem rather complex but when you break it down, it is all very simple. It may not always be logical per se, but I am not logical.

I have accepted the fact that I will likely not settle down in the traditional sense. There is a rhythm to my life, and it has more bends in its road than most people’s. I’ve accepted this about myself and I am prepared to uproot as often as necessary. It’s in my blood to go where the wind blows.

At this point, I would appreciate it if you would judge me. Hold me accountable. Even if my freedom is my most prized possession, I take it for granted. I live in a world that affirms my right to travel, uproot, explore, and to wander and so I accept my world of limitless possibilities unquestioningly. I carry this world of possibilities with me always, and, while it has made me independent and detached, it has plunged me into a mindset that is wholly self-absorbed. And, as self-sufficient as I would like to be, I never wish to be that. 

As I wander and as I grow, looking in new places for that inner peace that the world calls “finding myself”, I am not invulnerable. The world applauds my journey by encouraging me to run from anything that makes me unhappy. They remove the standards of right and wrong so that they do not hinder me, yet in doing so it they have removed my guideposts pointing me to the right paths. I’m not exploring anymore, I have become lost. It’s ironic how much I have become like the world in my efforts to be freed from the materialism and drudgery of it all.

I have more voices cheering for my happiness than I do voices speaking truth to my soul. Somehow, the world has made it past all of my safeguards and seeped in through the chinks of my armor.

For this reason, I am about to take a five-week hiatus from life and work and, well, everything to retreat to the mountains of Colorado for a vigorous season of prayer and truth-seeking. I am going to a place set apart for this very purpose, to clear the cobwebs from my mind and spirit.

When I heard someone mention how there was the “order of things” my automatic response was “What order of things?” and I knew. I knew that I had drifted too far from the truth. The fine line between right and wrong has become very smudged lately.

My generation does not believe that there is an order of things. We believe we can reinvent ourselves over and over again until we create someone we can actually like. We smugly think we’ve killed God and all His truths. But somehow our demons still cling to us and we cannot make them go away.

I don’t consciously prescribe to any of these views that are influenced by Eastern religions, but the voice of self-worship is leading my generation, and it affects me. I am a woman with meticulously cultivated beliefs on philosophy, theology, and worldview. But even my clear-cut beliefs have become muddled somewhere along the way.

I have noticed how faithfully the sun sets and rises, unbothered by the heresies playing out beneath it. Every year Spring comes again, sometimes late, and sometimes early, but always right on time.

And I am reminded that if I live in such a world and still ask myself “What order of things?” then perhaps I’m not living in the real world after all. And so, I pull out my compass and start making my way back North.



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