A few weeks ago, a friend of mine wrote a blog post… the kind that stands in front of us, pointing its finger and sticking its tongue out. Like, na na na na na naaaaa! “This one is just for you, buddy.”
It was for me. Not all of it. I think some parts weren’t meant, directly, for me. Other parts, though, they were.
Long ago, I started a blog to share recipes and new things that I’d cooked. Somehow, it morphed into a blog about life. Ree Drummond was kinda my unknown mentor way back then. It was before she became a well-known star of Food Network and she was just a regular girl, writing a regular blog about food, faith, family. I wanted that.
The thing is… a lot of people wanted that. Especially once she gained a little more fame and people really began to follow her and do what she did. I suddenly felt like I couldn’t compete, so I backed myself out of the game.
By then, my focus sorta shifted anyway and it seemed like a good time to introduce a whole new blog. You know, one that NO ONE was doing… hmph. Except. Everyone was doing it. Okay, not everyone. But lots and lots of people. Smart, smart women. More experienced women. Women who have made speaking all of the country look like a day at the park.
I left a cooking blog to start writing a faith (is that even what to call it?) blog. For what purpose exactly?
See… I don’t so much fall into the comparison trap, like others might, but I do fall into the “what do I have to offer that isn’t already being offered” trap. I am clearly not the best cook. When I see other blogs that are better photographed, better written, and have way more interesting foods… I think… well, I made awesome baked spaghetti! Meh.
When I see women who blog about their faith, their story, their journey… they are really talking about something big and special and amazing. And usually they’ve been walking the journey a lot longer than me and have a lot more wisdom to share. I think… well, I went to small group tonight and led prayer! Meh.
What am I offering that’s different? Not one thing. Or, at least, that’s what the enemy wants me to believe.
Maybe I’m not offering anything different. Maybe I only have two faithful readers and one of them is my mom.
Maybe I’ll never post the greatest recipe or the greatest story about my journey with God.
Maybe only two people will ever read what I write. And it’s usually not very well written either… I write the way I talk. I lose grammar points often.
So, do I stop? Who am I doing all of this for anyway? Me? Them? Fame? Notoriety? God?
That was the question I’ve spent the last several weeks trying to answer. My friend, the one who wrote the blog post mentioned at the beginning, she helped. And encouraged. And reminded me how writing is more therapeutic for me and who cares if no one reads it. When those of us with huge hearts walk around this world, sometimes we just need an outlet. Sometimes, we just need to pour things out of ourselves so that we can move on to the next thing.
Consider this my pouring out.
Things have been difficult over the last few months and it meant me doing what I do; retreating. Pulling back. I’ve got to stop that. It means I process alone when I don’t necessarily have to. It means walking a scary, dark road by myself when I know I have at least two people who would walk it with me. Not to mention the satisfaction I would have by simply unloading my heart onto these pages.
I’m going to try and be better. I’m going to try to stop retreating into myself when things get ugly. I’ve learned a lot over the last couple of months and I’m excited to begin sharing them – even if it’s only to my mom. 😉