We make such commotion about what a space is called, don't we? The space in this little three bedroom house where we do our office work, where I sit writing this blogpost, isn't called the "office" but is the "study". When Richard Niebuhr was here, this was called the "pastor's study."
I find myself incapable of thinking about writing any poetry seriously if I don't have pen and paper in front of me -- so this typing is not really writing but merely white noise, to keep my head occupied while I (and my parents and the whole world) wait for the real genius to appear.
I won't bore you with the details of our laborious journey/move into this quaint little abode, but suffice it to say, while here, I feel - like goosebumps on my skin - as if I need to be, daily, just as industrious and diligent as I assume the dear Rev. would want me to be if he were still alive. I must say smart things, entertain intelligentsia, behave like an educated young lady. Richard N would probably frown on my watching I Love Lucy reruns and Food Network food challenges. I should be watching Rachel Maddow and browsing TED Talk clips and reading the Bible front to back everyday.
So while I am incapable of following in the footsteps or living up to the namesake of this house, I endeavor in my own ordinary way to make a difference.
I've started collaborating on a fantastic online journal, Cedars, which is a virtual space for excellent fiction, nonfiction, and poetry. It is a gathering place, at once similar to but different from the Niebuhr House. Nonetheless, I imagine myself immersed at the foci of creative processes. How lucky am I to participate actively instead of being a spectator (oh, Parker Palmer, wouldn't you be proud to hear that I remember your words of wisdom when you last visited Washington University?)!
Where is your space for creative thinking, inspiration, and rejuvenation?
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