Writing is hard.
I try to pretend it isn’t, that I’m a medium that words flow out of, but the truth is very different. The words flow, this is true, but the moment I acknowledge them, I smack them down and turn them over, checking their gums and the whites of their eyes. I hear them, taste them, roll them up and try to reshape them. Will they hurt feelings? Will my husband be okay with the public-ness of thoughts brought to light? Will they worry my parents? Will they be too aggressive or bitter or honest? Will one friend be hurt if I mention another? Will my sisters be hurt if I talk about my friends? Will my Swiss friends understand my homesickness for people in the States and vice-versa? Am I bragging, whining, preaching? Will I sound like a bad person with unbalanced priorities, an imperfect marriage, inadequate spiritual life and distorted view of others? Will the reader walk away having rendered a final judgment?
Yes. And no. And probably. Or maybe.
So I decide to hold them in until I can find a new spin, softer synonyms, happy words with a cute lesson, maybe a matching Instagram.
Writing is hard.
But it wants to be done. It is a need. I’ve been encouraged to do it, told to do it, sent mugs with emphatic, unedited 4-letter words that command me to do it.
The next couple months are going to be interesting and adventurous and hard and happy and anxious. I’ve made a decision that a growing few know about and, of that growing few, not many understand. I am supported, but it could be based on history. ("She's made some unusual choices before and no one else got hurt. Let's just watch this one play out.") I am lucky enough to have those people who are always solidly in my corner, stupid idea or not. I get it. I'm thankful regardless. There is going to be judgment and whispers and rumors and not-so-subtle questions that I will attempt to handle gracefully. My family will hear them and buffer me, my husband will have stories that make me laugh with the ridiculous position my choice has put him in (ahem), friends will shake their heads and chalk it up to Springs being Springs.
But when these things happen, I'm going to write about it - the sweet, the changes, the pain and the awkward. And trust me, there is gonna be awkward. 'Cause that is life, right? That's what we sign on for when we make bold decisions that are backed by our conscience, our convictions. So I'll write. I'll try very hard not to edit or fluff. I'll stand firm in my conviction that God is big enough to handle my dark thoughts, doubts, harsh words because I'm still going to Him to wade through them. That this feeling that I'm still under His protection means grace trumps a life lived in fear. I'll use an adjective more than once because that is the only word that makes my point. I'll count on the offended parties to either talk about their concerns or stop reading or offer the same grace I extend to their Facebook statuses. I'll leave in sentences that start with a conjunction.
And I'll write like a mother ------- ok so there may still be some editing.
I try to pretend it isn’t, that I’m a medium that words flow out of, but the truth is very different. The words flow, this is true, but the moment I acknowledge them, I smack them down and turn them over, checking their gums and the whites of their eyes. I hear them, taste them, roll them up and try to reshape them. Will they hurt feelings? Will my husband be okay with the public-ness of thoughts brought to light? Will they worry my parents? Will they be too aggressive or bitter or honest? Will one friend be hurt if I mention another? Will my sisters be hurt if I talk about my friends? Will my Swiss friends understand my homesickness for people in the States and vice-versa? Am I bragging, whining, preaching? Will I sound like a bad person with unbalanced priorities, an imperfect marriage, inadequate spiritual life and distorted view of others? Will the reader walk away having rendered a final judgment?
Yes. And no. And probably. Or maybe.
So I decide to hold them in until I can find a new spin, softer synonyms, happy words with a cute lesson, maybe a matching Instagram.
Writing is hard.
But it wants to be done. It is a need. I’ve been encouraged to do it, told to do it, sent mugs with emphatic, unedited 4-letter words that command me to do it.
The next couple months are going to be interesting and adventurous and hard and happy and anxious. I’ve made a decision that a growing few know about and, of that growing few, not many understand. I am supported, but it could be based on history. ("She's made some unusual choices before and no one else got hurt. Let's just watch this one play out.") I am lucky enough to have those people who are always solidly in my corner, stupid idea or not. I get it. I'm thankful regardless. There is going to be judgment and whispers and rumors and not-so-subtle questions that I will attempt to handle gracefully. My family will hear them and buffer me, my husband will have stories that make me laugh with the ridiculous position my choice has put him in (ahem), friends will shake their heads and chalk it up to Springs being Springs.
But when these things happen, I'm going to write about it - the sweet, the changes, the pain and the awkward. And trust me, there is gonna be awkward. 'Cause that is life, right? That's what we sign on for when we make bold decisions that are backed by our conscience, our convictions. So I'll write. I'll try very hard not to edit or fluff. I'll stand firm in my conviction that God is big enough to handle my dark thoughts, doubts, harsh words because I'm still going to Him to wade through them. That this feeling that I'm still under His protection means grace trumps a life lived in fear. I'll use an adjective more than once because that is the only word that makes my point. I'll count on the offended parties to either talk about their concerns or stop reading or offer the same grace I extend to their Facebook statuses. I'll leave in sentences that start with a conjunction.
And I'll write like a mother ------- ok so there may still be some editing.
