Skip to content

what i was born to do

May 23, 2010

I know I promised I would write more once my spring semester was finished. I haven’t really kept that promise. Most of the reason is because I’ve been confused. I have been confused about who I am actually writing for – Some invisible audience? People I am may know, others I may not? One person or 100? Or just myself?

More importantly, I have been confused about why I am actually writing. Is it to “wow” that invisible audience? To single-handedly become the most impressive blog on the web? To someday be able to say I have more readers than anyone else? Or to simply fulfill the God-given desire I have to write?

I have been thinking about these things and so I have been hesitant to write. I am still not completely sure about it all. But there are two things that I do know now: 1.) I have to write even if I am my only audience and 2.) I write because that is what I was born to do. I was born to write. I was born to do a lot of other things, but writing always seems to rise to the top. I can’t escape it. I don’t want to.

I have been journaling for a long, long time. For years I have been my only audience. Those journals are stored away in a box in my closet, but they contain thousands of words expressing the hopes and fears and dreams I have had over the years. Some are in pencil, some are in pen, some are typed. Some have water stains, tear stains, hot tea stains from the first Christmas I spent in Russia. I have journaled on airplanes, in hotels, in new houses (new to me at least after a move), in cars traveling to all sorts of places and leaning on the back of a bus at the end of a dirt road in the hill country of Rwanda.

So many times I have thought my life wasn’t worth putting to words, recording on paper. But I kept writing. I have written in times of excitement, wonder, fear, loneliness, joy, turmoil and peace. Strangely, the times in life I have found it hardest to write is when my heart is hurting. Somehow those are some of the few times when words just won’t come. I am not sure why. Perhaps this is for the best. I don’t have those times of heartache memorialized forever. Perhaps I just need to press through in those times and write anyway. And very rarely I have. I can still feel the heartbreak when I re-read those entries. Thankfully I can still feel the excitement, wonder, joy and peace when I read many of the others.

So, after everything, I want to begin with a fresh page: writing to myself, for myself  just because that is what I was born to do.

Advertisements

From → Personal

4 Comments
  1. Hey! I read! So there are at least two people…you and me! 🙂

  2. What a blessing that you’re not sitting on your God-given passion. That’s a reason why I write as well. I look forward through more from you! {I came across your blog through wordpress readomatic}

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: