I really don’t like writing.
There I said it.
It’s not that I don’t like writing per se…maybe it’s the pressure I feel surrounding writing that I don’t like. I start to feel dread rising up from the tips of my toes through my stomach whenever I think of the writing deadlines I have for the blogs I contribute to. What can I possibly say that hasn’t been said before? I have no new insights, nothing that would make anyone think. I don’t have a profound bone in my body. All I know is I’m a desperate sinner…and I get kind of sick of telling that same story.
The discipline of writing is also hard when you’re not a very disciplined person. Which is a hard thing since there is so much writing inspiration everywhere I look. My children. Oh my word…I can’t even keep up with recording all of the crazy things they say and the wild things they do. I am loving them and my role as their mother more and more each day. I wish I could have my computer open all day and type fast enough to record everything unfolding around me…But I never do (Haley is being homeschooled and we’re sharing a computer)…and then the moment passes and it’s gone…and I forget exactly what was said or done that made me smile so big or laugh so hard and I’m so sad because I wanted to record it so that I could always remember and so others could enjoy it.
So, life is happening too fast and I am panting to keep up, let alone document it all.
The place I chose to write today has a broken AC and I am both sweating and starting to fall asleep from heat exhaustion. I just tried to put my hair up in a ponytail using my bracelet, but it broke and now there are wooden beads everywhere. I have hardly typed anything…just complaints that writing is so hard in every way. But looky here…I just wrote 326 words talking about writing, so I guess I can’t really hate it that much.
So, yes, if anyone out there even reads this pitiful blog, sorry for today’s rambling. I’m working through the discouragement.
I don’t want to hate being disciplined, and having deadlines, and I don’t want to feel insecure about not having anything to say. I want to be a voice that is vulnerable with you about my struggles and shortcomings. And perhaps…well, maybe you could relate? And maybe you won’t feel so alone? And maybe we will remember together that our weaknesses are a gift to point us to Christ? And make us boast in HIM and not ourselves? Maybe, just maybe?
So thank you God that writing has become so hard for me. Thank you that I can rely on you more and not on myself. Thank you that even though my story of sin gets old, your story of redemption is ever new.