Posted in Thoughts from Life

About Me

Yesterday I wrote over a thousand words before I ever started writing an actual blog post. I have no idea what I will do with what I wrote first. It doesn’t really fit anywhere right now. It’s just there.

Today I wrote another 1800 words before starting this blog post. It doesn’t fit with yesterday’s writing, I don’t think, so it’s not like I can put it all together. It could be the introduction to a book. Maybe. If I can figure out how to flesh out the rest of the idea. But I don’t know. It’s just there. It’s just thoughts that poured out of my head randomly, exploding from a place that has been buried for a long time.

I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I vividly remember being ten years old standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes while mentally writing an instruction manual for washing dishes. (Yes, please laugh. It’s hilarious.) Later, I kept a notebook where I hand wrote portions of stories that filled my head.

But I could never go anywhere with the stories. I had bits and pieces, but nothing real that I could truly form into a plot or a point. Having heard “real” writers talk about how their stories almost wrote themselves, I figured I wasn’t a “real” writer. I was just a wannabe writer. A fake. No need to waste time on such nonsense if I wasn’t a real writer.

And yet, there have been times in my life when the words really did flow. I didn’t always know what to do with them, just as I have no idea what to do with the words that have pounded out through my fingers over the past couple of days. But, I’ve been most healthy as a person — and had the strongest inclination that maybe I am a writer after all — when I’ve let the words just come. When I’ve written them whether I knew what to do with them or not.

The problem is that I like to be productive. To have a purpose for what I do. If the words have no place, why should I waste my time writing them?

But, when I’ve tried to only write what has seemed productive, the writing has dried up, leaving me in seasons where I couldn’t write my own thoughts. Where I had no voice. Where I wondered if I even had thoughts at all any more. Those seasons left me feeling dry and dead and silent and so very far from being seen or understood.

A lesson I’m very, very, very slowly learning is that sometimes productivity has nothing to do with the usefulness of what I produce. Sometimes it has to do with just being good for me, even if it does absolutely nothing for anyone else. Sometimes that really is productive.

That’s hard for me. I’m a people pleaser by nature. And, after all, doesn’t Scripture warn us against thinking too highly of ourselves? So, it’s definitely hard to believe that I should spend any time on an activity that might never do anything for anyone else. How can that be godly? How does that grow the kingdom? How does that even compute?

And yet, I am better today for having written those 2800 words yesterday and today, as well as the words that I know I’ll turn into blog posts. I am healthier. Which means I am more capable of investing in other people. These are realities, but I have to figure out a way to convince myself of their validity day after day after day. Otherwise, I won’t keep writing the random thousand words here and there. And if I don’t keep doing that, I won’t be able to keep writing blog posts. Or processing the thoughts I have in my head that make me who I am and help me engage well with others.

Sometimes it is about me. I don’t like it. I struggle with it. But it’s the truth.

Sometimes it’s about you, too. Sometimes you need to do things solely for the sake of your own health. Your own growth. Your own pleasure, even. Because when you do, you are learning who God made you to be. You’re learning the gifts He placed in you. You’re honing them and developing them. Even if in this moment it feels selfish and all about you, it’s actually about so much more. It really is about honoring God with every single part of who you are.

I’m going to forget this. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but probably next week. Next month. A year from now. I’ll forget it. And I’ll need to be reminded. I won’t want to be reminded, but I’ll need it.

So today, while I’m aware and accepting this truth, I’m saying it.

What truth do you need to say out loud today? What do you need to record? What will you need reminded of next week? I’ll be glad to help. Because this is how both of us will grow. Are you in?

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Author:

Many times, I've read profiles of writers and storytellers and have felt like an imposter among them. I don't really fit the profile. I'm different. Not quite the ordinary fit for any of those categories. And yet, the thoughts toss about in my brain and beg to be let out. My words come together in writing much better than in any other format. So, my goal is to recognize that I am a writer, even if I am a not-quite-ordinary one.

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