Wary

Maybe I am really naturally quiet.  I don*t think so.  I am wary about being interrupted.  I expect... to be interrupted.  This reflection began as a piece on voice, and ended somewhere else.  Or then again, maybe it is about voice.  That*s often what happens when I write.  Different things find their way in even as I contemplate the exact right word.  A piece on voice, for example, becomes a piece on my being wary of speaking.

Often

Still too often

I am wary

I will say too much,

So instead

I say too little.

This voice thing

Is tricky.

It*s not just singing

Takes practice.

I preached for years,

Practiced preaching

For years,

Almost every Sunday.

Never got it exactly right,

Though most often,

It was good enough.

God agreed to inhabit my words.

Probably most often

God spoke

In the spaces

Between words.

So much more eloquent

In the spaces

Between words.

This morning I woke and knew

All the theologies

All the sermons

In the world

Can never be more eloquent

Than the spaces

God inhabits.

Still

Even in this knowledge

I find myself
wary.