An Invitation (qualified)

I was a better writer before I knew I was one.

Years worth of journals fill my bookcase shelves. They're full of my heart. Me working out life with pencil (never pen. The task of life-working-out requires an eraser) and paper and words. Writing helped me contain, control, and decipher my emotions and circumstances. It was my way of making sense of it all.

And it helped me see.

The words were only for my eyes. And God's. Occasionally I'd share them with a friend who I thought might find some comfort in them. They'd fulfilled their purpose for being as soon as they were written. That was enough.

What I consider some of my best writing came at a time in my life when the words written felt like my soul being splayed out. The pain was so intense, the desperation such that I could have scratched the words in stone with my finger nails. My soul, no, my guts, found their voice. Again, the words were just mine and God's.

You were not there.

Then somewhere along the way my soul went public, and I became a blogger. It sounds so much less dignified than "writer" doesn't it? I invited you in because I thought you might find some comfort and pleasure here. I wanted to share.

But like a housewife who can't sit down and enjoy her company for fear of the dust and dirt, I've found myself less concerned about sharing whatever I have with you and more and more concerned about what I'm bringing to the table.

I can't write well with you listening.

Don't get me wrong. I'm humbled and grateful that you even visit me here. So grateful! But I need my words to exist for themselves, for me, and for God. Period. That's where they find relevance, authenticity, and purpose. They get fully baked in my soul.

Your "task" (if you don't mind me saying so) will stay the same. You read, and I'll be grateful.

It's my mindset that needs the change. So if you don't mind, I won't be thinking so much about you in the future. At least not while I'm writing.

But once I'm done, and I come here to offer whatever my soul has served, I'll be thinking . . 


And I'll be hoping your soul might find even a little sustenance at my table. So please, pull up a chair.