Showing posts with label journaling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label journaling. Show all posts

confessions and desires of a world-digesting writer/eater cell


Merriam-Webster defines a writer as: (noun) One that writes.

Big shocker.

I've been writing, well since I was about 5.  First just letters, then short, three word sentences without punctuation, then onto complete sentences and paragraphs.  By seventh grade when I had Mrs. Spicer for English I was writing essays and stories and poems and loving it.  In between there around the age of nine I started journaling.  For me, writing has been a way to process my thoughts, feelings and circumstances.  When Jesus became real and beautiful to me at age sixteen writing was the way I processed what I was reading in the Bible and the conflicting feelings I was experiencing as an insecure girl wanting to find my place in the world.  I wrote a play for my youth group and more essays and poems and filled a few more teddy bear and flower decorated journals.  

Between those early teen years and now I have married, graduated from nursing school, labored two sons into the world and moved several times.  In between those words are years of trials and joys.  Some too hard to speak about.  All digested in the writings of my private journals.  Also in there somewhere I discovered the blog.  I had no idea.  Up till my discovery of Blogger all my writings were private letters, journals, poems and word docs.  As women in my church, close friends and family encouraged me, I began to blog more.  

In the past 10 years or so of blogging I have been introduced to the endless voices in the public square.  It's quite overwhelming actually, the volume of published content by anyone and everyone on the internet. A simple google search on any topic will give you pages and pages of links from the famous and professional to the stay-at-home-mom who managed to squeeze in a half hour of blogging in her day full of household management tasks and human-raising efforts.  (A thought-provoking article here about the tsunami of un-governed writings and teachings available on the internet for the consumption of the church and it's implications.)

In the beginning of my blogging efforts I set out to promote my blog- reading other blogs, commenting, participating in mommy-blog contests, etc.  And then my marriage took a dive into troubled waters.  During that time I stepped away from public writing and became aware of my mixed up priorities and the praise-seeking sin at the root of all my efforts.  Writing had ceased to be a tool for processing life.  It had become an obsessive exercise to be known.  I hated finding that out about myself.  But it was the beginning of dealing with a besetting sin that was dragging me down on my race of faith. 

As I returned to meditating on God's words more and processing what I was finding there in private journals, I slowly returned to selectively writing on my blog again.  This time with a decision not to self-promote or to check stats or seek comments, but just to offer in a public way my meditations on God's word and life with a prayer that it might encourage someone out there.  

Writing for me has never been an identity or profession.  To me, calling myself a writer because I write is sort of like calling myself an eater because I eat.  It's a fact. Big deal. Writing is the way I chew on life and digest it.  Ignorantly I've sort of thought everyone does that.  Having two sons who don't enjoy reading or writing like I do has taught me that not everyone experiences life best with books and ink and words.  Not everyone feels a sense that heaven might smell a lot like the intoxicating paper pages scent of Barnes and Nobel. 

Somehow, the process of digesting life that is so necessary for me has encouraged others.  I've been told it's a gift.  I haven't thought of it that way.  But listening to others and hearing God say, "Do your part in the body of Christ! Use your gifts for the good of the body," (my paraphrase of Romans 12:3-8), I have started to take more seriously the stewardship of a gift God has given me to process the Word and the world in writing for the purpose of pointing others to him.  I want to do this while thinking of myself soberly and less.  For me this means beginning to submit public writings not just here on my blog at my will, but to men and women in the church (worldwide) who can help me steward this gift for the good of the church and God's glory.  

Desiring God has been a source of much encouragement to me in my walk with Christ and so was the first venue through which I have submitted a couple articles and have been so humbled to have published there.  The decision to submit writings to editors and people who give feedback and criticism and sometimes just a simple rejection opens me up to learning to take this gift God has given and start stewarding it for the multiplication of his kingdom.  I'm excited to learn.  I really don't feel comfortable calling myself a writer because I need to write.  But I do feel comfortable calling myself a glad and happy servant of my Servant King Jesus to the people he loves!  

I mean, I am a nobody.  Really.  There are plenty of famous and much better writers out there.  But, I am a cell in this body.  And maybe it's just another cell or two that needs to fight off some invading sin or needs help to lift it's spiritually-anemic head.  If that's one of the ways God wants to use my life I say a hearty, "Yes!"

If you're reading this I'd appreciate your prayers that I would seek first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness and forget about myself and be more others minded for their good and God's glory in my writing.  Pray that I'd learn to use writing as a means of building up the church and bringing God glory.  

May God build up his people, even with a world-digesting writer/eater cell like me. 


Of barely burning embers, a bruised heart and a Beautiful Savior


I came to the end of another journal today. I've kept a journal since I was 9, and I still have all my journals from age 13 on.

Looking back is hard. And some of the reason it's hard is pride. It's flat out embarrassing looking back at some of the things I thought, wrote and did. I look back and know for sure, my God is so merciful and patient and faithful to me, though I have been a liar, a thief, a gossip, sexually immoral, quick to trade Jesus in for a man who would make me feel good, and much more.  I've been a coward and a complainer, but Christ has been to me the God-Man, drawing a line in the sand, lifting my head, withholding his right to condemn me, and making me want to go and sin no more!

I'm tired of fighting sin!  I long for the day when my thoughts aren't a battle from the moment I open my eyes and depression doesn't suck me in like a black hole.  But, by the grace of God, I'll keep fighting the good fight of faith in Christ.

There are so many hurts from the past.  Oh, that I would see with eyes of faith; that I would see God's promises kept and Christ's beauty forged in the fires of my life and the aroma of His goodness emanating from my brokenness.  Yet, I find at 39, at the end of another journal (one that started as a determination to keep the promise of my youth in marriage and to pray for my husband), that I am a smoldering flame where I thought there was fire.  I am a bruised reed when I thought I was a pillar.

And I lift my trembling hands and bend my weak knees and cry out tired prayers and rest all my hope on the One who doesn't put out irritating smoky embers like me or crush cowardly broken reeds like the one I find I am after life's trials thus far.

I wanted to be a "woman of valor", but peering past the obviousness of the condition I find myself in, I see my Lord stirring a flame and splinting what's broken, and a long way off, I catch a glimpse of what I long for:  to see Him face to face, and to be made like him, finally fully redeemed.

So I press on.  Looking back so I can recall His faithfulness despite my folly, but then forgetting what's behind, because He's given me today.  And it's a long obedience in the same direction with the promise that He who began a good work in me, will be faithful to complete it compelling me to put one foot in front of the other.

A bruised reed He will not break, And smoking flax He will not quench; He will bring forth justice for truth. -Isaiah 42:3

Quieted,
Sheila

Second living of the past few weeks

I have been planning our yearly summer trip to Oregon, trying to keep a semblance of order yet keep the vacation in our summer break, doing the daily things that keep a home running and in the back of my mind through it all I have blog posts going through my brain. Smile. Sigh.

Time budgeting is much like money budgeting for me. I find if I don't set aside the allotment for the necessary I'll spend it all on the unnecessary. But then usually the necessary uses up so much of the budget that there's not much room for the unnecessary. Writing isn't unnecessary to me, but if I don't get up early enough or stay up late enough the opportunity to write is missed. Problem is its usually throughout the day that I think of things I want to write. I find myself jotting down thoughts on scratch pieces of paper or in the many journals I have floating around wherever I go. I have a bunch of pictures of meals I've made in iPhoto. One of these days...

There's a terrible bunch of knotted up muscles descending from my left jaw, down my sternocleidomastoid and trapezius accompanied by a hideous grinding/crepitus sound from the base of my skull on the right side when I turn my head. I'm convinced this is all due to the damaged TMJ on my left side that, after years of gab, grind and grub is permanently flawed. I don't know what to do about it. Do I see a dentist? A chiropractor? An ENT? A physical therapist? My family practice doc? What would they do about it?

About 2 months ago I started experiencing pain with squatting in my knees- left worse than right. I ignored it and joked about approaching 40. Its gotten worse to the point getting up from a sitting position or sitting down is causing a stabbing pain in my left knee. A week ago we went fishing, I climbed up the rocky trail to our car, pushed off with my left leg in a lunge position and the pain just about brought me tumbling down the trail. Since then, I cannot squat, lunge, sit, climb stairs, get out of my car...anything that involves bearing wait and bending my left knee to a 45 degree angle, without some serious, eye-watering pain.  This is really messing with my plans to keep doing Crossfit style workouts 3 days a week. My husband thinks its a torn meniscus. I know what they do for that. I don't like that option.  And I thought men were the stubborn ones when it comes to medical stuff.

I'm only 38, but my body feels things I didn't expect to feel until my 50's.

We're planning to drive the famous Pacific Coast Highway in California, from Morro Bay to San Francisco next week. I love the ocean view. I like mountain views too, but if I had to choose, I'd choose ocean. Desert view isn't very high up on my list... but it has a beauty.

I am so looking forward to this trip. A Geek Squad guy at Best Buy named Connor (with an O like our Connor who umps Little League) helped us buy a GPS for the trip and wrote out some must-see places in Santa Cruz, San Fran and Half Moon Bay for us to consider stopping at on our trip. Apparently he's from the area.

At the end of our PCH California trip are my precious nephews, sister and her man. The boys can't wait to go fishing. I can't wait to hug my sister and nephews and listen to their sweet voices. I treasure the time I get with my family in Oregon. I wish I could just stop by and visit Aunt Kandace or head to grandma's house for the day. I'm very thankful for the friends in AZ who have become family to my boys. Nevertheless I wish I could be closer to my mom and dad and family.

After my sister we'll move up to where my mom, dad, brother, grandmother, grandfather, nieces, nephews, sister-in-love (as opposed to law... saw that written somewhere and loved it!), and house full of more nephews are. We miss them all! My boys would literally move in with the house-full clan if they could! They look up to my now graduated from high school nephew Ethan, and the next in line Nolan. They treasure the play time with Avery and feel like big brothers when they get to be with Liam and Quintin. The always leave that house wishing they had "10 brothers." Sigh.

I've been thinking about what my "voice" is. Writers talk about finding their voice. It feels weird to call myself a writer. I write, but I guess I wouldn't consider myself a writer unless I was published. Is a person who rides bikes a cyclist? I guess. I feel more comfortable with calling myself a journaler. Maybe that's my voice. Journaling.

Ann Voskamp is one of my favorite blogger-writers. She's definitely a writer. Her voice- poetic, encouraging, meditative. I leave her blog encouraged, agreeing.

Pastor Craig is another favorite blogger-writer. In fact, right now, theirs are the only blogs I read regularly. I've also read a book from each. Pastor Craig's voice is humorous, insightful, editorial. I leave his blog smiling every time!

I don't know what my voice is. A few people have told me I have a different way of putting things that helps them understand. Interesting how that works. Interesting how a person can use words to open doors of understanding.

 Hupotosso is a word. We unpacked it a bit using an online Bible Study Tool at the last ladies Bible study for the summer last night.

The Bible really is a living book!  It's inspiration is inexhaustible.  God's word opens doors of understanding that no one can shut and shuts doors of understanding that no one can open. To voluntarily yield yourself to the authority of another is God-like. To fight for your rights is human. To suffer for doing what's right is divine. To fight back is fallen nature. To entrust yourself to the One who judges justly is Christ-like. To strive to prove you're right is what we all do. To be a Christian is to be a hupotosso-er. We do not follow a weak, mousy, doormat. We follow the Creator of the Universe who humbled Himself, who bent low to lift us up, who huppotosso-ed and saved us.

I read Ann's post about an encounter with a stranger in an airport. He asked her what "kind" of Christian she was. Her answer resonated with me:
Isn’t being a Christian rather like being pregnant? You either wholly are or you really aren’t — is there an in between? How did we become known as “kinds” of Christian instead of being simply, humbly, loving Christians? What if following Christ was about a living faith not about wearing faith labels — about living Christ-behaviour, not living in Christian boxes?
Quieted,
Sheila

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