A tale of two giants

A Tale of Two Giants; or,

the difference between quashing dreams and inspiring them

I

I saw a giant who looked down his nose at me. 

So great was his strength, and he looked on all others as weak and worthless.

We needed no show; we knew.

We were already small.

He made us feel smaller.

He alone was great, and no others met his standard.

He snarled, "Stay below in cowering shallows whilst I ascend to the heights."

And he climbed, and was lost to us. 

No more lost than when he dwelt among us (but never truly with us). 

And the flickers inside us died away.

II

I saw a giant who smiled at me.

Great was his strength, and he bore us all up to his level.

We were small.

He made us feel grander.

He made us wish to be more than we were.

He said, "Let us go up and see what we will see, together."

And he climbed, and he held our hands.

So he led us and gave us strength by the leading.

He dwelt among us.

And the flickers inside us grew to heated flames.

Some wisdom from Anne Brontë

When we are harassed by sorrows or anxieties, or long oppressed by any powerful feelings which we much keep to ourselves, for which we can obtain and seek no sympathy from any living creature, and which, yet, we cannot, or will not wholly crush, we often, naturally, seek relief in poetry—and often find it too—whether in the effusions of others, which seem to harmonize with our existing case, or in our own attempts to give utterance to those thoughts and feelings in strains less musical, perchance, but more appropriate, and therefore more penetrating and sympathetic, and, for the time, more soothing, or more powerful to rouse and to unburden the oppressed and swollen heart.
—Anne Brontë (Agnes Grey)

Sixty-Two Words

I detest what passes as literacy today.

I detest text-speak, and alterations of good sound words into some mutilated, putrescent carcass of slang formerly known as English. My corneas twitch every time I see the unholy desecration of grammar or sentence structure. (This paragraph is a digression from my initial thought, but it was unavoidable.)

Back on point: one thing I detest regarding literacy is the apparent contentment with "short and sweet"; that writers have to cater to the boredom of mainstream, lazy ignoramuses who cannot stir themselves long enough to read anything longer than half a page. (Do I sound slightly bitter?)

That being said, I find truth in the idea that saying things as simply as possible is better than being wordy and excessive, though to be perfectly honest I believe that if we put our minds to it, the lengthy poetry-like prose of, say, the seventeenth-century writers would be simple and easy to understand. It all depends on what we're used to.

I was struck today by the value of saying things as simplistically as possible. Sometimes brevity has more effect. Such was the case with Elijah on Mt. Carmel, facing the false prophets and idolatry of Israel. He watched and waited with patience (and a bit of mockery) while the prophets of Baal cried out for hours, worked themselves up into a frenzy, and cut and mutilated themselves before finally falling into a trance - all to no purpose. They were not answered.

Then, having given the false prophets ample time to humiliate themselves and prove their lies, Elijah did two things: he dug a trench around the altar that had been built, and poured twelve jars of water over the sacrifice. Everything was drenched.

That being done, Elijah spoke.

And at the time of the offering of the oblation, Elijah the prophet came near and said, “O LORD, God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, let it be known this day that you are God in Israel, and that I am your servant, and that I have done all these things at your word. Answer me, O LORD, answer me, that this people may know that you, O LORD, are God, and that you have turned their hearts back.” (1 Kings 18:36-37)

A mere sixty-two words. Not a full morning of crying out, not a frenzy, no self-mutilation; sixty-two words are all Elijah spoke, and God heard him. One verse later we see God's response. Fire rained down from heaven and consumed everything: the sacrifice, the stones, the surrounding dirt; the flames licked up every last drop of water.

Stand rebuked, Linda. I guess brevity is good after all.

...I still detest text-speak.

Wise Words

This post is an excellent one. Check it out.

"I believe God entrusts us with words. And if we wield them in a public way, we have a greater responsibility to share them wisely. If one has been given a gift, much will be required."