I am writing a story, and the horrible part of this process is realizing how much like reality writing and entering the world of imagination is.
It’s a choice.
Gone are my unrealistic expectations of the ideal writer, the essence of bohemian inspiration that allows me simply breathe out a tale that will inspire, entertain, and touch others. A story that brings me life and pushes others…
It’s so much like reality, this whole process of writing, that I can barely stand it.
But I will.
For the same reason I choose to love others consciously, despite what my heart tells me.
For the same reason I get up, get dressed, go to classes and work—because of the dream greater than my flimsy whims.
Because the choice to write
the choice to love
the choice to be vulnerable
the choice to LIVE
And I refuse to let satan talk me out of embracing it any longer.
So you better believe I’m writing this story because I believe it deserves to be told,
and you better believe I’m going to keep on living despite whatever lies my life may hold.
I have forgotten how scary it is to begin writing. Each time I sit down, I find new ways to stall…cleaning, cooking, other homework, bank accounts—and I hate dealing with numbers—everything and anything is better than facing that blank page.
I have ideas, lots of them, but I can’t seem to sit down and force myself to begin to bring them to life. It’s absolutely terrifying, trying to breathe life into ideas so that they have the chance to become something, to become art. I try to remind myself that I am just a vessel, you know, a tool that allows the characters and story to come, that I can’t and should not try to control it. Yet I feel such a responsibility for this story, for my potential audience…what if I let them down? What if I can’t do my characters justice, what if the art that I am dreaming of, that excites and thrills me, that has me all excited, is lessoned by my voicing it. What if this story ceases to be beautiful because of my foolish and inadequate ability to put it down on paper? What if my attempt to breathe life into this story ends of destroying it.
All in all, I suppose it’s simply a long way of saying I am dealing with feelings of inadequacy and self-consciousness, a reminiscence of puberty as I face low self esteem as I stare at the empty pages, my loaded research, and my deadlines. However do I begin?
For 2012, my resolution is one, simple statement.
My resolution is to truly live.
The end. Simple—-to say at least.
What do I mean by living?
I mean by having my priorities straight, of being with God, of enjoying Him and the relationships around me, of being a good steward of my time, money, and school work.
Living, means being present.
Mind and body, in the present moment.
To live. Daily.
That is my resolution.
God help me.
This post is scary, because it shows a significant change in my life, and it terrifies me a bit.
I don’t want this to sound like complaining, or give off a sense of unhappiness or despair, because those are not the sentiments of this post or writer. However, it isn’t exactly a happy post.
You see, the end of my favorite day of the year has come, Christmas Eve Eve (don’t ask me why it’s my favorite, I’m sure you won’t get it) but it is…
The only problem is, it has yet to feel like Christmas.
I look back at my journals, or past Christmas posts—dating back to even Xanga days, anyone remember those—and all those posts are filled with sentimental and thought provoking words or anecdotes.
This year, however, I feel like I have been on the move so much that Christmas just hasn’t had the chance to catch up with me….this year, has yet to feel like it even holds the Christmas season. I just keep getting little teases, thats it.
It’s not due to location change, because I’ve had Christmas in many places, and it’s not due to lack of family or traditions…its not due to lack of love, lack of presents, lack of cheesey Christmas movies, or the last minute shopping. It’s something so much deeper that I can’t quite figure out completely.
Do you ever feel like you’ve been running from your problems or from difficultly for so long that it has separated you from your own life?
A part of me feels like that is what has happened…I’ve kept my soul so busy it can’t seem to slow down and remember….
It can’t remember how blessed it is
It can’t remember how loved it is
It can’t remember the beauty of grace
or the hope of salvation in the form of a baby
It can’t remember the comfort of tradition, or special moments, or pausing in life
This is the first time I’ve ever felt as though I have to work to remember Christmas
Work to remember what this holiday is about
Work to slow. down.
I hope this isn’t what growing up feels like, because I don’t think I like it.
Dear Jesus, help me to remember,
“Yet I taught Ephraim to walk, taking them by their arms or taking them up in My arms, but they did not know that I healed them.
I drew them with cords of a man, with bands of love, and I was to them as one who lifts up and eases the yoke over their cheeks, and I bent down to them and gently laid food before them.”
The more fantasy I read, the more folk tales, the more magical adventures, the more stories filled with the impossible and the ever present motifs and themes that fill each tale—the more I am convinced that fairy tales and fantasy are our own guide books to life.
True fairy tales, where the hero or heroine must deal with real tragedy and sorrow, where life isn’t easy and there are villains and evil afoot, teach us how we are to react.
I tire of hearing people complain about the deceitfulness of fairy tales or the dangers of fantasy.
Perhaps, you simply didn’t understand.
What I learn is how to be strong despite the many dragons of life that overpower me. To use what others called a deformity or an ugly weakness to my advantage, to push myself until it becomes a strength.
What I’ve learned is often times we need help from outside ourselves, whether it is a magical helper, bears that raise us, trees that clothe us, magic cordials, or whispered words to an ancient God.
I’ve learned we often don’t know what is happening, that being wrapped in confusion and walking forward, that obey the strangest of instructions is normal.
What I’ve learned is that we get beat up, we get broken, things always get worse…
but there is hope.
And there is a right way to walk the life of a hero or heroine. That in order to triumph, we must hold on to that which is pure, good, beautiful—love.
“Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don’t we consider it his duty to escape?…If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we’re partisans of liberty, then it’s our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
― J.R.R. Tolkien
It’s decided, we, as in all humanity, are blind.
No, it’s true, and don’t try to argue with me.
The good thing is, God knows this, I mean he truly does….and he loves us anyways.
I love reading about the apostle Peter. He angers me plenty of times with his stupidity, but that’s also what draws me to him, because he’s as big of an idiot, and as stubborn and rash as I am.
Peter is human. Peter is an emotional basket case. Peter is a failure, Peter is coward. Peter isn’t sure who he is, and Peter really doesn’t know what he wants.
And yet Christ tells him, while he is still a screwed up kid, “You will be a rock.”
He is promised, called, given a new identity-even though it took three years, and some of the hardest lessons and biggest mistakes a person could make.
He failed. He betrayed.
But Christ still saw him as what he was meant to be, “the rock.”
I have so many friends that I have spoken with lately about starting over, about change, about feeling discouragement because of the struggle, because it’s so hard to believe that Christ, or his church, see beyond the mess right now.
But I want to tell you that some see you for who you are, not where you are at right now.
Do me a favor, go read the gospel of John, and pay close attention to the mistakes of Peter, but also his vast loyalty and dedication.
You may fail, but…
GOD IS STRONG ENOUGH TO HANDLE OUR FAILURE.
Don’t stop pressing forward towards healing, towards becoming
We see you as you are. So what if you’ve messed up today, or “failed” in a way that seems detrimental to you.
Tomorrow is a new day, begin again. You are not yet who you will be, but He is not finished with you.
As my favorite little red haired Canadian orphan Anne Shirley once said, “Tomorrow is always fresh, with no mistakes in it, yet.”
Don’t be blind to the person you will be, by the person you are now.
This song is so beautiful it breaks my heart.
Griffen House// Lay Down in Your Fields