Words

I have been thinking lately about words. (I think it is because I work out of my car as a nanny - and due to the fact that someone else decided that they needed my stereo enough to break my window and steal it- I have no music to distract my thoughts) I have been thinking about how limited they are. I mean it is not like the sounds of the letters "l," "v," and "u" could ever really encapsulate the enormous idea of "luv." (Or the fact that you understood what I was talking about even though I didn't spell it right)
I was thinking today that letters are like bits of steal that we shape and turn and connect - sometimes with much pain- into a vessel that carries our idea. These bits of steal are all we have to tell someone else of our idea. And then, in talking to others, we realize that they have shaped their bits of steal differently. We talk and look at their configuration. And then sometimes we rearrange our bits of steal to be able to accommodate their understanding too. Other times we restrict our bits of steal, taking them apart and putting them back together to make sure only some things can be carried. It is this construction and re-construction that is conversation and learning.
But then, there are bits of steal that we use to try to hold ideas that are too big to cage. Ideas like death and pain. These ideas seem to blow the steal cages into bits again. No cage can hold them. But these ideas are in our experience. We at least have some experience with them. We have carefully constructed our understanding of these ideas and have painstakingly placed our bits of steal together to carry these ideas.
But even more baffling than that are the bits of steal that we use to try to convey the concept of grace. Simple letters tied together trying to attempt a definition, an understanding, a characteristic of the Infinite. It seems to me that no matter how I construct my bits of steal, they are never going to restrict the concept of Grace. It seems to seep through every crack, through every door and window. It pushes against the roof and supplies so much pressure that the floor begins to collapse. It seems that even my experience with grace only touches on the actual concept. As if I understand only a drop of the ocean, and yet know that the ocean is there calling me to its depths.
Yes, I only have bits of steal - but I see that sometimes I need something more. I need a picture, a metaphor, a breath taking landscape, a hug, tears, a great movie, a song - all of these and more to express even the beginnings of an idea of "grace."