Men. Please. Tell me you can feel it too.
Can’t you feel the ground spinning? The sun and moon are pacing, back and back and forth, and sometimes the rain falls and sometimes the sun burns and the whole world is out there. The dust has settled. You know, back when all of this spinning and falling and burning and being all got started, we were not created to let the dust settle.
“The boy is a warrior; the boy is his name.” – John Eldredge
There is a science, a process that many ancient Greeks devoted their lives to – they called it logic. It was like this:
There are two points. Between them is one straight line.
One straight line is only observably of one length.
(note: I’m not writing for science. I’m writing for my story, and the story of Men. Stick with me just a moment more, and I promise I’ll be done with the science.)
I couldn’t care much less about points and lines, so I changed the story to suit my being alive. Then it was like this:
Those are two mighty fine feet at the ends of your legs. Just look at em.
There are a million different lines from here, of a million different lengths, and the world is outstandingly and indescribably beautiful.
“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” – Dr. Seuss
Let me tell you what I mean by “etc.” By etc, I mean “You are also in possession of some dandy looking paws.” By etc, I mean “It seems only logical with this many paths and with this many feet, and with the way the earth’s still spinning, that the dust ought not to settle.” And you might say, Why are you so concerned about the dust?
“By the sweat of your face you shall eat bread, till you return to the ground, for out of it you were taken; For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” – God (Gen. 3:19, ESV)
I am concerned about the dust because it is what I was formed from. It is what my feet were formed from. Men, I have eyes to see the beauty of the earth, and wanderlust in my heart, and two glorious feet. I am a warrior, the boy is my name, but the man will be my title, it will be how I am known. Wouldn’t it be glorious to be pointed out in a crowd as such? “There he is. The Man who learned how to use his feet.” That would be a story worth writing. or.
“Either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” – Benjamin Franklin
As a writer, I am more excited to live a story than to invent it. In fact, writing has repeatedly caused me to reevaluate myself, and what I am doing, and who I am becoming. We can tremulously anticipate the thrill of adventure’s call. Wake up! Or rather, stop longing after half-remembered dreams, and start living something worth dreaming about. Stir the dust and eat the bread, for the ground is calling… but the world still spins.