I have been fighting with myself
about blogging again. I feel like Jonah in the Bible, running from my mission.
Will my words be used by God? I think no one wants to read what I write. Will I
be deemed too religious? I am scared and that was never like me until recently.
I do want to be liked, but I also want to be myself.
So, why did I start writing
publicly? Why did I want my words out there? Was I following God's direction or
my own path to fame? I sat myself down lately, examining my motives to
write. Why haven't I written? Why do I
resist now, that which I desired to do for so long? I am back at a job where I am respected and
paid well, do I need to write? The answer crept around the busyness of a new
job. I have time, even though, often I have a lot of charting. I even likened
it to getting paid to write, like a travel writer. I travel and meet
interesting people and write about them, to a limited audience. And I must guard
what I do convey. The rules of HIPAA affect my speech.
I guard myself a lot lately. Yet, I
always had some censor in the back of my mind. First, a long time ago, it was
my mother, as the editor for all my papers that she typed. Then, other family
members moved into the editing room in my head. I needed to be aware of their
privacy and feelings. A few months ago, I felt freed some from worrying. Did it
free my writing? Not right away did I allow that freedom to nudge my writing.
I met with some friends at summer's
beginning. We gathered every week last summer for prayer. A lot happened over
the course of winter and we all felt a hedge, at first. We needed transparency,
as does the Church. This has been a problem, probably since the beginning of
the Church, as I read Acts chapter five. The Holy Spirit doesn't strike us dead
when we tell tales making us look good to the leaders or our congregations,
anymore. We die a slow death from deceit. We need to confess to a close friend
or two, how we struggle with sin at times. It is too easy to slip in the back
of the sanctuary, late, sometimes and slip out before the last song and not
speak to a single person. To quit going altogether becomes effortless. The Church
feels undemanding, simplifying the feeling of disconnectedness.
I am finding, too, in this day and
age, words cut again. People offend quickly. Many talk about the division and I
don't really want to belabor a point we hear all the time. This, though, has
hindered my writing, as I don't want to offend. Yet, I am what I am. I am a
conservative Christian. This is my background from growing up in a church
forming my world view. I listen to other world views, but I feel condemned with
mine in the world court of judgment. I don't write this with self-pity, only
that I had been reluctant to put myself out in public view, until I figure out
why I am writing; where I take my stand.
I am angry sometimes, though. I
listen and want to hear different points of view. I want to learn. I feel that
when it is my turn, I am shut down. I am prejudged by the world because I
write from a conservative Christian view and that no one really sees my words.
My last post about summer was a fun. I
mentioned God and religion slightly, because that was how it was when and where
I grew up. My friends accepted each other with our different churches, but we
all believed in God. Roman Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, Church of Christ,
Christian Missionary Alliance represented our neighborhood’s affiliations.
Unfortunately, we had no Jewish or Muslim families in our small town. My mother grew up with Jewish families, and
she expressed a positive image of them. We never really talked about the diversity
(I really didn’t know some surnames were Jewish, they were names my mother knew.)
My senior year of high school, I told her I couldn't have dated a Jewish boy I
met in New York. She seemed surprised I said that. I only thought, he could
never accept Jesus and I couldn't give up Jesus. I watched Bridget Loves
Bernie, as a kid, which was my influence on vastly ranging religious backgrounds
in a marriage and families.
I continue to ask myself, do I give
up writing? Why did I start in the first place? One of the paradoxes of giving
up our dream to God, is that we may get it back stronger, and is that why we
give it up? Me, Myself and Bob by Phil Vischer, explored that, as he
watched his Big Idea Productions slip through his hands. I think, in my saying
I give up writing, am I really hoping for that success? Am I playing a game? I
don't want to do that. Do I want success or do I want to honor God? And if I
humble myself, am I really humbling myself?
I have been nudged to write on my
blog again, though. For a few weeks, I had a consistently higher page view
count than previously. I should give the viewers new material, I thought, as I
sat in a trance in the evening with Facebook. I imagined a short story about
escaping Facebook Land, but didn't write it at the time. I may yet. No
promises, do I make.
The last post was fun. It came as I
walked on the first day of summer. I wondered what I would do with the first few
words, where would they go? You may see them or something similar again in a
novel. They opened in my head, a scene for my sequel, Walking with Eternity,
yet, again, that must be written.
I decided to take my time with
posting, too. I will write them and let them sit a few days, editing and
tweaking and holding my breath, before I hit “publish.”
Transparency, I hope I always had. I
know now, I can't go on without it. I crawl out of my bomb shelter after examining
the risk of being branded and losing potential readers. I hope in the process,
I will be clear with my words, gaining readers, instead.
