Writing toward the Answers

Writing is not only what I teach, it’s what I do. It’s not only a way of communicating to others—it often starts as a way of tracing the spoor of a thought or an idea or an emotion, tracking it to its den, making friends with it, and letting it speak to me. Sometimes the end product will also speak to others. Most often, it just sits in my journal. Once a week, it turns into a blog. Sometimes I dabble in poetry. Last time a poem found its way into my blog was here. 

I’m again processing some losses—from big ones like my mom’s death 3 years ago (yes, still, see here as I reflected on reading and death and here as I reflected on writing her eulogy) to smaller ones like the ocean view out our apartment window and the books that didn't make the packing cut. My faith tells me the answer: all will be well, but sometimes my heart is still working through the process of coming up with that answer itself. And that is okay because I have a good Teacher and a community to help when I get stuck. For the analogy, I am indebted to Dr. Jeanne Jensma.

The Answers in the Back of the Book

Neat columns of tiny italic answers
started on page 531 of the geometry textbook:
Angle-Side-Angle, 
A squared plus B squared equals C squared,
23 cubic feet.
A replica of that list of odd-numbered answers
was not the goal of the class.
To master the understanding offered
I had to laboriously work the process,
wrestling with theorems, shapes, proofs, formulas,
discipling my brain to the mathematical discipline
until I could come up with them myself. 
And when my answer didn’t match the one in the back of the book,
I reworked the problem,
asked questions,
studied the text,
watched a friend or a teacher work it, 
until finally—eureka!—
amid eraser crumbs, 
smudged notebook paper, 
and graphite-scented fingertips
the process led me, too, 
to the answer I knew had been waiting all along 
in the back of the book.
Why did I expect that life would be any different?