The title of the book Leaving a Trace by Alexandra Johnson makes me pause to contemplate its multiple meanings. The word “trace” strikes me initially as a faint line, a light imprint, not of much importance. Should I take my life lightly? Is my life story not important? Is my story lost in a multitude of faint tracks?
I’m sure the author didn’t intend “trace” to mean the things I’ve mentioned. Perhaps my associating “trace” with unimportance stems from my own insecurity? Or, more likely, a “trace” is all any of us can leave. Our life stories have relevance only to certain people at certain points in their lives.
My life lives on through my words. I have to decide whether to commit the sin of hubris and put the words on paper. Will I be punished by the gods, like Prometheus, for stealing Zeus’ fire and placing it in my pen? Or will the gods and everyone else ignore my writing? And I shiver when I think of the thousands of ways my writing could be criticized, my words turned to dust.
I can’t walk the writer’s path alone. I need inner inspiration to put pen to paper. I need to be filled with “the all-consuming fire” for my words to count. I need faith to let myself be a vehicle for the divine fire. I need God. I can’t do it alone.
Photo Credit: Photo by GiselaGiardino at Flickr Creative Commons.