my phenomenally talented friend, sarah bessey, recently wrote a blog entitled ‘in which this is saving my life right now‘. she invited others to write out what is saving their own lives right now in an inspired synchroblog.
and so here i am.
i’m doing this fast and furious, before i chicken out.
and i know this will not be profound. but i need to admit it. i need to admit that after years of ignoring gentle nudges, knock-me-down shoves, impressions, whispers, and shouts from the heavens, THIS is saving my life. these quiet moments. where i sit. and reflect. and pour it out. until i can set the jar on its’ end. and then i exhale.
it’s not pretty. i’m all over the place. like the dessert bar has just opened and i’m whirring around – to the oreo crumble cheesecake, and then the creamy ice cream pie, and, wait! don’t let me miss out on those rocky road squares. those are my real favorite . . . . or maybe it’s the fondue. and i’m piling things on my plate, and maybe something has rolled off the edge. but i don’t care.
for once, i’m not caring what it looks like. i’m not obsessing that i don’t have the right. that my voice isn’t essential. that i’m not a real writer. or about that english prof from university who gave me my first and only C on a two paragraph paper. and then put it up on the overhead for the whole class to dissect.
so i’m going to write about squats and Jesus and what the heck happens to marriage when that first baby comes along. i’m going to figure out why i don’t always feel pretty, why i’m freaked out about labour, and the importance of interval training. i’m going to figure out what i think about all those things i think about. and i’m not doing it to impress anyone. i’m doing it because there is a need. there is an ache. and i’m sick of stuffing it down, down, down, as deep as can be. because i might expose myself. because i might not get an A. because then people might see the smudge or, heaven forbid, the giant tear in my otherwise flawlessly polished armor.
i feel like i’m at a typewriter, and every single syllable is being rewarded with the most satisfying *thud* that echoes off the walls.
phew, so there it is.