Behind-the-Scenes Blog

“I say hello”

One of the most powerful moments of the last Stephen Colbert Late Night Show was Paul McCartney singing “Hello, Goodbye.”* It was powerful simply because it was McCartney (!), but it was equally powerful because of the poignancy of the lyrics: “You say ‘goodbye’ and I say ‘hello’ ”

Since then, I keep hearing those words echoing in my mind. As you may know, I am in the process of closing the Narrative Alive graphics project I started a year ago.** Yes, it is an ending. But it so many ways, it is a beginning.

Endings are something we can all relate to. We’ve all been through things that have come to a conclusion, some more graciously than others. Some more welcome than others. As I navigate the ending of Narrative Alive, with all the details that need attention, from website hosting to email accounts to software programs, I feel the weight of this particular sadness.

But I am also thinking about what’s next. It’s uncanny how many times something about beginnings has shown up in my world over the last few weeks!

“To make an end is to make a beginning”

This past month, I read a book titled The Mountains We Call Home by Kim Michele Richardson. (It’s a companion book to her Book Woman of Troublesome Creek series about the packhorse librarians in Appalachia.) Each section begins with a quote, and when I got to the quote for Part Two, these words of T. S. Eliot practically leapt off the page into my heart!

For last year’s words belong to last year’s language
And next year’s words await another voice …
And to make an end is to make a beginning.
—T. S. Eliot, “Little Gidding” poem (sections II and V of “Four Quartets””)

How could a line be so fitting for where I am! My “words” from last year were the graphics I created for Narrative Alive, which led to my starting a blog, which is now opening a way to next year’s words.

I’ve been taking a look at the online community of writers on Substack, which includes well-known authors such as Anne Lamott, Parker Palmer, and Barbara Brown Taylor, and I’m discovering it also offers a platform where unknown writers such as myself can be heard. So I’m putting T. S. Eliot’s words about “next year’s voice” into action, and I plan to move my blog to Substack.

There’s another quote that popped up that I want to share with you. I’ve just finished reading Terah Shelton Harris’s book Where the Wildflowers Grow. It’s a powerful story of a woman who escapes incarceration to start over, and as she struggles with starting over, someone gives her these insightful words:

Beginnings are never where you think they are, where they should be.
—Terah Shelton Harris, Where the Wildflowers Grow

I didn’t want Narrative Alive to end. I believed in it wholeheartedly! But out of the creation of those graphics, I found my voice. That was a beginning I didn’t expect. I didn’t know how much I had to say, or that anyone would want to read it! And I’m grateful.

“In the beginning again”

It surprises me sometimes how one kind of quiet can be so different from another. Since I live alone, there’s a lot of quiet in my house. But in the early morning, when the day is not yet encumbered with to-do’s, there is a special kind of quiet I experience when I sit with my thoughts, or readings, or prayers.

Lately, my morning reading has been from Jan Richardson’s book In the Sanctuary of Women. In a section where she reflects on major life transitions, she asks, “How do you mark the beginnings and endings of the lifetimes that unfold within your life?”

And she offers this blessing:

In the beginning,
in the ending,
in the beginning again:
may the God of the threshold
encompass you in every turning.
—Jan Richardson, In the Sanctuary of Women

What a marvelous phrase: “the God of the threshold.” This makes me think of a God who knows what it is to cross a threshold—such as coming to earth in human form!

And Jan’s phrase “in every turning” suggests the path forward will not be a straight line. Yet there’s a promise in the beginning again: God will “encompass you.” I will hold on to those words in the year ahead.

“Be still my soul”

At the end of May, I was fortunate enough to be able to get away for a few days to a cabin in the Driftless area of Wisconsin. If you’ve been there, you know it is VERY hilly and, in many spots, you can see for miles. The cabin was a serene place on top of one of those hills, with a large deck and a view to die for. Perfect for musing, reading, journaling, and napping.

Early the first morning, I was sitting out on the deck in a rocking chair, self-soothing with rocking rhythm and absorbing the view. As often happens for me, a hymn tune floated through my mind. I’ve learned to pay attention to these small God-winks! I often “hear” the melody long before the words come to mind. In fact, sometimes I need to search my brain for the lyrics. But this time, the words were already on my tongue, and I found myself singing:

Be still my soul,
the Lord is on thy side.

I’m all too aware how precarious the future is. From the extreme chaos in our country to my personal crossroads: a third occurrence of cancer, new heart issues that are postponing surgery, the end of Narrative Alive and the start of something new.

That morning, on that deck, as I sang those words, I felt the deep reassurance that I am not alone. Whatever is ahead, I know, I feel it in my bones, that God is on my side. God is with me.

“Fill me with life anew”

The second morning, it happened again. Another hymn tune floated by, and I paused to “listen”:

Breathe on me, Breath of God,
Fill me with life anew.

I thought of the past year, of how much thought and work I’d put into creating graphics, of how much I wanted the Narrative Alive project to grow. Closing the project is the loss of a dream. I could feel my grief not just in my tears but in my aching muscles and my sore heart.

But through my tears, I could also feel my longing. I could sense the spark in me that had ignited when I started my blog, and I knew I wanted to keep writing. I knew there would be “life anew.”

Much to my surprise, writing has become an important part of my life. I am experiencing what Joan Didion describes: “I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want and what I fear.“

I find myself eager to explore new topics and enter into expanded conversations. And I look forward to connections with new people who will be reading my blog.

“I heard the owl call my name”

One of the special gifts of this getaway arrived in the form of owls calling in the early evening. As best I could tell, there were two of them having a conversation. Their “who-who”s were beautiful, inviting—haunting, even. What were they saying? It made me wish I could speak “owl”! Maybe they were checking in with each other about what kind of day they’d had. Maybe they were saying, “I’m here … where are you”?

There was something about the sound of these calls going back and forth over the trees that made me feel part of something bigger. It’s not just me here. I’m surrounded by the very alive world beyond me: the owls, the mourning doves, the deer in the wild columbine, the varied greens of trees everywhere, the sweeping views of hills and valleys and sunsets. I’m part of it ALL. And ALL is, somehow, part of me.

Maybe what I’m trying to say is that I felt linked with these creatures and these hills. Dare I say I felt cared for by this surrounding vitality of life?

I thought of Margaret Craven’s classic book, I Heard the Owl Call My Name. While the protagonist’s story (a young priest with a terminal illness sent by his bishop to a remote village in the Pacific Northwest) is not my story, his journey of discovery speaks to me. Maybe, when it comes down to it, that’s what new beginnings are: a journey of discovery.

“Help me to be a beginning,
so that I may not just grow old, but grow new”

Evening is my favorite time of day. The air gets a still quality to it, and I feel the world settling down, preparing for rest before another day starts up again.

As I sat on the deck of our cabin watching the sunset, I thought about the sun’s energy. It can be so intense during the day, but then it seems to disappear for the night. Sometimes (as it did that night) the sunset paints the sky with vivid colors. And long after the it has disappeared below the horizon, the sun is still splashing brilliant reflections across the sky.

Even as darkness mostly subdues the palette, there is still a glow on the horizon. Almost like a reminder—or a promise—”I’ll be back!” The sun may look different tomorrow, depending on the clouds and the weather, but it will still be there.

Which leads me to the question, “Where will I be?”

I don’t have a well-laid-out map for what’s ahead, but I do know I want to be writing. I am already making plans for my new home on Substack. And I’m praying one of my favorite Ted Loder prayers:

Help me to believe in beginnings,
and in my beginning again …
[Help me] to make a beginning,
    to be a beginning,
so that I may not just grow old,
     but grow new
each day of this wild, amazing life
     you call me to live
     with the passion of Jesus Christ.
—Ted Loder, “Help Me To Believe in Beginnings,” Guerrillas of Grace

I hope you’ll keep reading my blog posts on Substack. It may take me a bit to get things set up (I have to get through some heart procedures, breast surgery, and recovery first), but I will let you know when I’m writing again and where you can find me. I value your camaraderie—and prayers—on this journey!

And wherever you are on your journey, whether at a beginning or an ending or somewhere in the middle, I hope you have found something helpful in these reflections.

—Marcia Broucek, graphic designer for Narrative Alive

I welcome your comments about my reflections. If you have anything you want to share about your journey, I invite you to share your experience in the Comments field below.

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* If you didn’t have a chance to hear McCartney sing “Hello, Goodbye” on the last Stephen Colbert Late Night Show, click here and scroll over to minute 3:10, after Colbert says “goodnight.”

** If you want to know more about the closing of Narrative Alive, click here for our announcement.