I had a professor once who said, “The writer is
the one who points and says, ‘Look.’” I’ve internalized that idea so deeply
that I can no longer recall who said it – the words are now mine, and I repeat
them from time to time when I’m called upon to say what it is I do – I point. I
say, “Look.” I write.
Monday was, as Anne Shirley so appropriately
described, “a Jonah day.” It started with misplacing my phone before work and
having to leave without it, continued through ordering the wrong drink at the
coffee shop, realizing I forgot my lunch, discovering a project at work hadn’t
been completed, speaking sharply to a coworker, apologizing to said coworker, learning
no contact had been made with a prospect for a book endorsement when I had
requested it two weeks earlier…the list goes on. Through it all I was working
on the tedious task of implementing proofreading notes on a book manuscript. I
left work at the end of the day, having told my roommate I would text her when
I was on the way so she could put the rice on, only to realize that was
impossible without a phone, and dinner would consequently be twenty minutes
later for my hungry belly.
I found myself in the car, weeping, crying out
to God and asking Him why I hadn’t realized I’d been cruel to my coworker,
kicking myself for how I handled it all, angry that I hadn’t followed up on the
missed pieces sooner, wracking my brain to figure how I would finish all the
work on the manuscript before the deadline.
Even Anne’s perfect description for my day,
when it came to me as I drove, gave me no comfort. Along with it came her other
thought on the topic: “Isn't it nice to think that tomorrow is a new day with
no mistakes in it yet?” It’s that little word
at the end that’s the problem: “yet.” It mocked me: “You’ll just do it all
again tomorrow.”
The tears clouded my eyes; the thoughts crowded
my mind. I ached at my own sinfulness and I couldn’t see a way out of it. The
writer was blind. In such a state, how could she point? How could she look?
And then a new song started on the CD. It began
with quiet strings and piano before Andrew Peterson’s voice began to gently
prod,
Behold the Lamb of God
Who takes away our sin
Behold the Lamb of God
The life and light of men
Behold the Lamb of God
Who died and rose again
Behold the Lamb of God who comes
To take away our sin
“Behold.” Look.
My mind would wander back to the troubles of my
Jonah day and AP would point again with that word, “Behold.”
Over and over again the phrase repeats in the
song: “Behold the Lamb of God.” Look at the Son of God, Emmanuel, the hope of
man. When the song ended, I went through again and again. “Behold.” Do not look
elsewhere. Keep your eyes on the Lamb. Will you sin again tomorrow? Yes, and
the Lamb of God will take away that sin, too. “Behold.”
When the writer is blind, who will point and
say, “Look"? The voices of the prophets, of the musicians, of the artists, of
all those who have beheld the Lamb and come to Him with their broken hearts,
fallen far away from Him, only to see them renewed and restored by the One who
died and rose again – they will echo together the call of John the Baptist,
pointing and saying, “Look.”
Lovely. Yes, needed reminder for me, too. (And good music as well :) )
ReplyDeleteBehold indeed. Well said.
ReplyDelete