I’d like to take a few short sentences here to thank everyone who has commented on my recent blogs. You’re the best. Your words usually come at just the right time and say exactly what I need to hear. Thank you for being sensitive to the leading of the Holy Spirit and offering words of encouragement and exhortation. Words I need to hear over and over again. This cancer journey isn’t easy, but it’s so comforting to know you’re out there, praying and rooting me on. Thank you.
I also get a lot of comments about how honest and gritty some of my posts are. Writing does that to me. It’s therapy. I get a thought in my head or a feeling in my gut and I have to get it out, I have to write it down. It’s one of the beautiful things about the written word: you can express your deepest fears, your most anxious thoughts, your fondest moments or most sentimental memories, and it’s there, in black and white for all to see and read and hopefully be touched by.
That’s one of the reasons I love writing stories so much, they are a way for me to transfer my own struggles and triumphs onto someone else, a fictitious someone else. I often use an emotional blueprint when developing my characters. They wrestle with what I wrestle with. The fears and hopes and pain they feel, I have often already felt. Again, it’s therapy for me.
Now, granted, all this honesty and pouring out my soul in words takes a bit of getting used to. For the non-writer it may seem a bit weird to put yourself out there like that, to be so vulnerable and transparent when you know darned well total strangers are going to be reading your words, knowing your innermost feelings, learning things about you that only you and a few close others may know.
It does take some getting used to. In fact, it takes a lot of getting used to. But once you learn to be honest with yourself, with how you really feel and you learn to remove that mask of self-sufficiency and self-righteousness when you’re by yourself, it’s not so hard to do it in public. You know who you are–flawed, weak, strong, frightened, whatever–and you’re comfortable with that or at least with being honest about it.
I’d like to think I’m being pretty transparent in my writings. At times I feel like a hypocrite because I write about trusting God one day and about being borderline obsessed with dying the next. But that’s being human isn’t it? Don’t we all do that? Have ups and downs, moments of strength and great faith and moments of weakness and doubt? I sure hope so, because if it isn’t I better start trying to phone home.