CALEB JOSEPH WARNER
The first line of a bad poem popped into my head yesterday as the plane landed. The poem would be bad, because I had written it. The line was, “When the buzz has worn off.” And in the half-conscious state of being awoken by a landing, I felt that this line was freighted with a great deal of significance.
But mostly, I thought about how my one and only love of words has gone for days without any longstanding flirting or acknowledgment from me.
I wonder why I wake up some Mondays feeling a strong lack of personal value—that is, what value do I have to offer?—and besides the obvious answers that it is LoVe of good things and TrUsT in God, the acute and unobvious answer always ends up being that I have gotten sort of, em, randy for imagination. The malaise sets in when I have only for a few days not gone into the unrealized realm to hunt and capture those fleeting images that for my entire life have been the one thing that puts the value back into, em, ha. ha. —> reevaluating reality!!
All I came here to say was that when I don’t write, Caleb get angry and you won’t like when Caleb get angry. I apologize to all the friends right now who in the past two days were subject to mild pissyness for Caleb’s sake. Together we will make patience great again.
But we have been here before. If you have read anything on this blog, you will know that every other post by me is something like, “What am I doing with my life? Why do I feel so bad? Oh yeah, that’s because I am not doing what I love as the proper worship and devotion dedicated to the one I love.”
May we all take joy in our toil and when the buzz has worn off, may we seek out the buzz again, being buzzed on the work provided by the spirit of God that indwells all humans seeking to please their God with the devotion of labor rooted in the joy of a world renewed by death and a faith that provides the means to make it through that death day by day.
I could say more about the idea of being buzzed on labor subject to the right master, but for now I will let things lie. For the harvest is plentiful and the laborer is you.