Right Now, Write.

It’s not that I think the internet needs another blog. There is SO MUCH CHATTER it’s hard to tune out. In fact, doing so has felt impossible to me lately. When I can’t go an hour without checking my phone something is off.

I took some classes this past year in theology and counseling and had to write a lot of papers – a short one every week, longer on occasion. Towards the end of the second term I started realizing how GOOD it was to just write regularly. Writing helps me remember who I am and gives a focus to my life. It makes me feel alive. I need that.

I want less influx, more outflow. To be proactive, not reactive. To create instead of consume. . . you get it. Writing helps me be centered and grounded. It is a cleansing and clarifying process, one that my brain needs to work well! When I write I feel like I am being who I am supposed to be and that makes me happy.

So here I am. A new, empty blog. I aim to fill it with words.

  • I don’t intend to write as one who has everything figured out, because I don’t.
  • I don’t intend to write as one who will make everyone laugh because I’m just not that funny.
  • I don’t intend to attract a lot of followers or write things that will make me famous because I’m not remarkable or that good.
  • I don’t expect to people to always agree with me (if anyone even reads) because I intend to be real and when I’m real I feel like I’m stirring the pot. I hate that feeling. But I hate self-repression more.
  • I don’t expect that, in the future, I will even still agree with myself in everything because this is about process.

I am 35 years old. Smack-dab in the middle of life {if not more than half-way through}, and it just keeps going faster and faster. I don’t want all the years to just fly by without taking time to absorb and be present in my own life. I attended a memorial for a dear lady this past weekend, a woman who lived a full life marked by graciousness and love for others. I don’t know how many years I have (she was 80), but I want to be intentional with what I have left. I don’t want to realize one day how much time I wasted, how I procrastinated the things that matter. I don’t want to look back at my life and wonder what I was afraid of, and why I didn’t take time to process and internalize and notice and think and be and speak.

As Ann Voskamp reminds us,

Time is a relentless river.  It rages on, a respecter of no one.  And this, this is the only way to slow time: When I fully enter time’s swift current, enter into the current moment with the weight of all my attention, I slow the torrent with the weight of me all there.  I can slow the torrent by being all here.  I only live the full life when I live fully in the moment.  And when I’m always looking for the next glimpse of glory, I slow and enter.  And time slows.  Weigh down this moment in time with attention full, and the whole of time’s river slows, slows, slows.

Writing does that for me. It makes me slow and take notice, be real, ask those questions that nag at the back of my mind, re-evaluate what I am doing,  and think about whether I have my nos and yeses right.

I want to be who God created me to be, and I’ve spent a lot of life trying to be other things. I don’t want to waste my gifts worshipping at the altar of some other thing that is not Ultimate. I don’t want to waste my gifts because of busyness or fear.

And for me, right now, that means write.

My blogging muscle is sadly out of shape, so bear with me as I exercise it.

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