Read, Write, Love, Repeat

Once upon a time a woman who loved words sat down at a keyboard and tapped away, allowing the words rattling around inside of her to come out and dance together on the screen.

She wondered if anyone would ever read what came from the tapping: the random ideas, the out-loud processing (or in-print processing, at least) of the various phases of her journey, her struggles and joys. She loved seeing the words dance, letting them catch breath and life of their own. Sometimes the words waltzed like Jane Austen characters, sometimes they were in a mosh pit, sometimes they did the Cha-cha Slide, sometimes they awkward middle-school slow-danced, and sometimes they bore up the broken pieces of the woman’s heart as they made their way somberly onto the page.

Sometimes she wondered if the keyboard tapping was worthwhile, if her sharing was over-sharing or not very interesting or just yet another person who thinks they can write putting out yet another middle-age-white-lady blog that has little point or focus. And the fear of all those things being true slipped in the side door and nudged her, whispering doubts into her soul.

Writing, letting out those beloved words, is such a very personal thing, and sharing it is at its core sharing a slice of one’s own heart. Exposed. Vulnerable. And so the woman tapping at the keyboard wondered: What is the actual point of this? What if wasn’t any good? What if people rolled their eyes? What if I never build a “following”? What if…

In the middle of the wondering and fear, life got busier, the woman’s writing became focused on teaching high school kids to love words the way she does, and all other tapping slowed to a trickle, then went to sleep for a season.

But seasons, as they always do, changed. Busyness shifted, reduced. The words stirred, stretched, yawned. Shuffled their feet, wondering if they remembered how to dance. A little reluctantly, hesitantly, the woman who loved words sat back down at the keyboard and took a deep breath.

As she tapped, then tapped, then tapped some more, she realized a few things. That the tapping was for herself as a way to process, to think, to express, to listen, to create something. That whether or not others like the words poured out from her heart wasn’t the point. More importantly, the woman who loved words realized the keyboard tapping was something God was putting on her heart, something He continued to bring up over and over again, through circumstances and through people around her. And so she stopped being afraid. Or at least AS afraid.

And the woman who loved words smiled as the the first strains of music stirred and the dance began again. The End.

**No, we haven’t moved to a new city or a new house. But my blog has moved to a new home. Today I relaunch my blog on a different server under a different URL. I migrated all my old content over to this new site, and I will be posting regularly going forward.

When the fear tries to sneak back in the side door, I will simply remind it of these words from Psalm 46:5: “Since God is within her, she will not fall.”

Thank you for your love and support for this woman who loves words.