Wonderful evening. It is 9:53 p.m.
There’s a good chance that I won’t be writing in the morning, as I need to be at school early for a publication upload. I’ll be around later in the day, though.
Just a few quick things about the day, and then it’s off to bed.
First, I can tell the questions are working deep within me about my writing and how I will resolve these issues of being spread too thin. I have spent most of the afternoon and early evening in quiet contemplation, allowing the feelings to come and go. There are the insecurities, for sure, that make themselves terribly present. As soon as I get excited about the idea of developing a plan for my writing, the inner critic surfaces and reminds me that this is no different than any other time I’ve been down this road (well, never this intensely traveled, but a meandering of sorts about what I want to do).
This is nothing but pure fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of failure. Fear of judgment. Fear of ridicule. It is what has stopped me every step of the way, until now.
Two things happened today to help me get through this.
First: I was listening to a Christian satellite station on Sirius Radio this afternoon, and Phil Johnson was talking about the need for individuals to really embrace our Christianity boldly, shout it to the world from the rooftops, our blessed, barbaric yawp, and let the world know we’re not afraid to talk about our faith in regular, everyday settings. This simple concept is helping me understand my own fear, my own trepidation from making a commitment and shouting that blessed and barbaric yawp to the masses.
I do not dignify my inner critic and its suppressive voice.
I’m not afraid. . . .I’m not afraid. . . .
Second: I received an anonymous letter today from Boston. It was both supportive and literary, and I read it over and over again in the post office, grinning, thrilled to receive these words. I have several students in that area, but the handwriting in the actual letter seemed much more mature. At first, I wanted to learn who wrote these beautiful words.
But then a greater thought transcended this desire to reveal the writer. With a name suddenly comes further questions, perhaps evaluations, judgments, and then more questions. The words on the page become secondary to the individual. Believe me, it’s not that I diminish the beauty of the individual who sent this letter; rather, I cherish the greater message and the sharing of these words. Tonight, I feel great support and encouragement that in my own journey, I am not alone.
I am not alone. . . .
Enjoy the evening and the early morning, Friends. What glorious moments these are.