1) It's been two months since my last post. Partly writers block, partly procrastination, partly having little to say that would benefit others in any way. It's still not okay.
2) It's been almost a year and a half since I was reading my bible daily. I let life take over and stopped making time for it. My heart is incredibly grieved by this. If there was ever a time in my life when I needed Him, to know Him, to be near Him, it's now. And still it is a struggle to sit down and begin again.
3) I'm still so afraid of failure that it's paralyzing and I'm so sick of it.
I feel a little lighter already, but it's not enough to simply confess. A confession without change is nothing but empty words and there are enough of those in the world today without my additions. The first is easy to remedy. After my bath I've got a blog scheduler printed out and plan on spending the next few days genuinely pursuing writing.
Which leads us to addressing #3 (we'll come back to #2). I love writing. I'm not always fantastic at it, but I'm pretty good and enjoy it more than almost any other activity. Fear is all that keeps me from it. And that's... so wrong. It's okay to have a bad post, or a few mediocre ones. Not every post, story idea, or attempt at wit and cleverness will be brilliant. And that's okay. Enthusiasm and prolific attempts rarely leads one astray.
Anthem has spent the last year showing me that. Sometimes I believe my husband has no fear whatsoever. He has such confidence in himself that I watch him in awe. He will share his ideas, his music, his talents freely, without hesitation. He doesn't spend hours perfecting them first so that upon their revelation they are near flawless. He lets others in to see the mess of inspiration as it takes shape, and doesn't seem to feel vulnerable at all because of it.
He knows his worth, and does not hang it on the opinions of others. He just dives into what he's passionate about and his enthusiasm is contagious. And this man, this incredibly talented, passionate man believes in me. He encourages me to pursue my writing at every turn.
So why am I afraid? That's a good question. I've been thinking about that more and more the last few days. What do I have to fear? My husband thinks I'm brilliant and so I cannot disappoint him, even if every draft for a year was nothing but utter failures because he would be proud of me for trying. My unborn son is still a little too young to be embarrassed by me yet, though it is far more likely that I would let down my future children by not trying than by trying and failing. My deepest fear then, it seems, stems only from my own insecurity. And that's just ridiculous for I have nothing to lose for the trying.
Which leads us, albeit a bit roughly, back to #2. I've lost for the lack of trying; I've lost for the giving up, for the loosening of the grip of that which I treasured. All three confessions can be remedied rather simply: an end to inactivity. I have the time, there is no arguing that point. I've let my life become infested by things that don't matter rather than making the most of the time I've been given. That's got to stop. My 26th birthday is around the corner and I have no intention of wasting anymore time. Because it's not just my time anymore. It's Anthem's time, it's Haven's time, it's time that I can give freely if only I will take it in my grasp again.
And goodness knows they deserve the most of me. I don't want to look back on my life and know I could have done so much more. I'm tired of being afraid. And I know, I know I've said it before but now it's not just about me and I think that is the biggest change, and the one that makes all the difference in the world.
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