A Word About Simple

 

I get up early most mornings. And many of those mornings, I’m up early because I’m writing. As I sit at my computer, I have a fantastic opportunity every day, looking at that blank screen, that cursor benignly blinking at me, awaiting my keystrokes. I can write whatever I want on that blank computer screen, as I tell my stories and record my thoughts. But there is one inescapable truth I always need to remember: Simple is the best way to write.

If I’m describing a guy on a bicycle who’s out for a morning ride, I can use big words to describe the scene by using words like thoroughfare or boulevard or promenade. 

Or I can keep my description simple; I can say the guy was riding down a road.

If I want to tell a story about a guy I met on a bus ride to Toledo, and I’m describing out interaction and conversation, I can intentionally type words that might be descriptive, colorful, even accurate. I can say I pondered his thoughts, that our interactions were abstruse and profound. I can say “His perspectives are cogitative, filled with sagacity.”

Or I can say, “I like the way he thinks.”

If my wife and I enjoyed dinner last evening, my computer doesn’t care if I use words likes epicurean or gastronomic to describe our meal.  But if I want anyone to pay any attention to what I’m saying, I need to just keep it simple and say we had a good dinner. 

If I stop at the store, and I’m standing in a grocery line on my way home from work and some guy trying to be friendly asks me, ‘How was your day?’ I can try to act smart or important and say, “The last twenty-four hours have been invigorating, gratifying, and absolutely Promethean in every way.”

Or, I can say, “Good. It’s been a good day!” Simple is better.

Good writing and good living are a lot alike. Every morning, we all face a blank page of life, another blinking cursor. We can perambulate through the happenings of today, contemplating the quintessence of their significance.

Or, we can walk in faith. The choice is ours. 

We can pendulate and vacillate and bifurcate ourselves into spiritual schizophrenia.

Or, we can trust and serve and believe.

Simple is better. The more profound I try to be — the more ostentatious and ubiquitous my approach to God — the farther I get from the little children Jesus said I need to be like. Children use short, easy words to talk to God. They pray for lost kittens, and ask honest, innocent questions like, “Why are our tongues wet?” When they cross a dangerous street, they hold on to hands bigger than their own, trusting the one leading the way.

The songwriter got up one morning and decided to describe his life. I can almost picture him leaning back, looking up into the sky and smiling, as a wonderful thought crossed his mind. And then he began to write, “This is the day that the Lord has made; I will rejoice and be glad in it.”

Simple words to describe a profound truth. Simple is better.