Writing to Know What I Think

Monday Musings #6

For many years I wrote, by hand, dozens and dozens of letters to family and friends in Canada. Before the advent of the Internet in the 1990s snail mail was the only way to communicate. If the one phone in our tiny jungle village was working, the cost of calling Canada was prohibitive. Once in awhile we communicated via a phone patch through kind-hearted ham radio operators who lived in the USA and who were willing to “patch” a call to our parents. I am thankful for those radio operators as it was through them that we let family know about the births of our three children. Most communication was via pages of handwriting on thin paper slipped into envelopes and entrusted to the mail system.

Photo by Lorrie Orr

My mother tells me that she knew more of what her grandchildren living 7000 miles away were doing than those who lived closer to her. I wanted my children to be known by their grandparents and the only way to do that was through letters. I wrote stories of our daily lives, cute things the kids said, games they played, and their likes and dislikes. Most of the letters I sent were to my parents and my parents-in-law with fewer to other family members and friends. My mother-in-law saved every letter and handmade card sent to her and those letters were the basis for my memoir of 21 years spent in Ecuador, Life is Short but Wide. I wrote to let my family know where and how I was living, so that even as I pictured them going about their days in the far away environment I remembered them in, they might be able to catch a glimpse of my environment through my words.

When I think about the letters now, I realize that they reveal more about me than the daily activities that kept me busy. Along with my journals I see in them my growing appreciation for the wonders of the natural world. There were the leaf-cutter ants that fascinated the children and me as they marched along, each carrying a portion of a leaf often larger than the ant itself. The wild lightning that flashed across the sky and thunder followed by sound-numbing rainfall. The delicacy of tiny yellow orchids by the thousands blooming once a year on a tree adjoining our first jungle home. I was mesmerized by the unceasing waves rolling onto the sand when we vacationed at the beach. Our trips to and from Quito always provided glimpses of towering snow-capped mountains that filled me with awe.

I wrote for myself in journals, but not very regularly and mostly as a way to express my emotions. So much time was spent writing others, even after the advent of digital communication, that I had little appetite to write elsewhere. But I did write when frustrated and angry. After we returned to live in Canada, journaling became easier as writing others was no longer necessary. The advent of digital communication meant a swifter interchange of information, but it still took much time. I look back on my journals now and see themes that emerged over the years - the anxieties and fears that came to nothing along with the desire to trust God throughout my days, and the grace provided for each moment. I wrote and still write, word pictures that allow me to envision the scenes and experiences of beauty and grace.

Numerous authors including Joan Didion and Elisabeth Elliot have written a version of “I don’t know what I’m thinking until I’ve written it down.” That’s true for me - writing for myself focuses my thoughts and often untangles them. A 30-minute walk followed by time with a pen or the keyboard is the fastest way I know how to untangle a problem or be able to set a problem aside. I imagine all the axons, dendrites, and synapses working together in my brain, smoothing confusion into coherent thought. Often, as I write, words of Scripture come to me to shed even more personal understanding and I find my relationship with God deepened. I don’t hold myself to a rigid schedule, but if I miss a few days at the keyboard or with pen and paper, I find myself getting antsy and need to take the time to write.

And so, I write.