transforming
Recently my husband commented that I hadn't posted anything here in quite a while. It's true, the good intentions I had a few months ago quickly fell victim to...life, I suppose. And the knowledge that my words are often so inadequate for my feelings. The woman I am and the writer I want to be seldom seem to find common ground.
And then there's the constant self-scrutiny of what I expect this place to be - a writing project or a journal of sorts? Theology or everyday life? I'm drawn to all of these, but each has its own particular set of drawbacks. Not to mention my obvious overthinking of every.single.thing.
When I started my first blog back in 2006, blogging was different. I was different. The past 13 years have brought a multitude of changes in my life (family, career, church, theology), yet those changes seem minuscule compared to the explosion in social media and its impact on communication and relationships.
I've wrestled with wanting a platform, a ministry. I've envied other women who've achieved recognition and success by parlaying their blogging into book deals and speaking engagements. I've allowed that envy to discourage and taunt me; my own sinful need for attention reared its ugly head every time I thought about writing a post. I nurtured my insecurity by paying attention to numbers and comments. I allowed my enemy to cripple me.
This post by Laura Lundgren spoke volumes to me. She exhorts and challenges,
If we are inclined to write and willing to write for God’s glory, then we do it regardless of the size of our influence. Like the parable of the talents in Matthew 25, we must decide to take what we’ve been given and invest it wisely. If we feel an impulse to write, a willingness to receive correction, and a desire to honor God with our words, why shouldn’t we write? As my friend Christy Britton reminds me, “Calling requires commitment. It doesn’t require a crowd.”
As I've revisited this post I've discovered an invitation to transform my attitudes about writing, and perhaps writing itself. I consider the village God has given me and the boundary lines he's placed around my life. I ponder what writing with this in mind will look like; I'm not certain, but I intend to find out.
And then there's the constant self-scrutiny of what I expect this place to be - a writing project or a journal of sorts? Theology or everyday life? I'm drawn to all of these, but each has its own particular set of drawbacks. Not to mention my obvious overthinking of every.single.thing.
When I started my first blog back in 2006, blogging was different. I was different. The past 13 years have brought a multitude of changes in my life (family, career, church, theology), yet those changes seem minuscule compared to the explosion in social media and its impact on communication and relationships.
I've wrestled with wanting a platform, a ministry. I've envied other women who've achieved recognition and success by parlaying their blogging into book deals and speaking engagements. I've allowed that envy to discourage and taunt me; my own sinful need for attention reared its ugly head every time I thought about writing a post. I nurtured my insecurity by paying attention to numbers and comments. I allowed my enemy to cripple me.
This post by Laura Lundgren spoke volumes to me. She exhorts and challenges,
If we are inclined to write and willing to write for God’s glory, then we do it regardless of the size of our influence. Like the parable of the talents in Matthew 25, we must decide to take what we’ve been given and invest it wisely. If we feel an impulse to write, a willingness to receive correction, and a desire to honor God with our words, why shouldn’t we write? As my friend Christy Britton reminds me, “Calling requires commitment. It doesn’t require a crowd.”
As I've revisited this post I've discovered an invitation to transform my attitudes about writing, and perhaps writing itself. I consider the village God has given me and the boundary lines he's placed around my life. I ponder what writing with this in mind will look like; I'm not certain, but I intend to find out.