Greetings faithful readers!
My last post was in thanksgiving. Since then I’ve worked as the conference administrator for the World Changers Summit, finished our last worldview class, went to work as the classroom director for Summit Ministries’ Colorado student conferences and now I’m sitting in Florida listening to Laurie Jalbert give the final presentation for our first retreat. Plus, my sister had her baby, I bought a car and virtually all of my friends got married.
A lot of life happens in 10 months.
In spite of all this, I’m still compelled to ask: Why am I so bad at blogging? The answer could be that I’m trying to focus, that I was managing almost all of the blog content for the WCS blog (see here), that I need more time. But the truth is that I have trouble writing because I’d rather be amazing than consistent.
There is deep within me a pride that self-edits any attempt at progress to death. If it doesn’t make my socks roll up-and-down instantly then it’s obviously going to be bad and I should obviously just move on.
Meaning, nonsensically, I get embarrassed by work I haven’t done.
So post after post sits half-completed in the draft folder, the semi-good never getting published because it isn’t great; the great never getting published because it’s never written. The irony being that the great will never happen because the great grows from the good.
I fail at blogging because I fail at risking.
The shame of publishing something that’s bad is more painful than the shame of having tumble weeds blow across my humble corner of the internet.
More importantly, I fail at life because I fail at risking.
The shame of committing to something that might not work out is more painful than the the life of safe inertia.
The quiet apathy whispers, “Don’t worry about it” as my eyes close above folded arms and the spirit of the consumer devourse the spirit of the producer.
In that moment, the second hand continues it’s militant circit and my right hand clicks away the talants God gave me to invest.
All is quiet in this square foot of creation because I often think that God is offended by the noise of His own calling.