(6) On Faith.

I stopped writing back in August.  I, apparently, am a self-proclaimed aspiring author and the last time I sat down to string non-thank you letter words together was seven months ago.  Impressive.  

I think that is in part because my Mom doesn't read my blog and that pretty much ticks me off.  But I think the other part, the more important part, is that I lost faith.  I lost faith in my ability to write, my probability of publication and my individuality that makes reading one thing instead of another important.  Without faith in the process or the outcome, I have found myself going no where fast.  

The thing is, I find it terrifying to be standing at this abyss of possibility and staring at this blank document with its obnoxious cursor blinking at me with impatient expectation. I mean really, who is the heck is this cursor any way? And where does it get off looking at me like that? I know I am supposed to write for myself, but why does the memory of every insult and reflection of every hater flash at my mind upon its thin black line?

I have two ideas for books that I have been tossing around for a while now that I think could hypothetically be worth the effort of each keystroke and tear of frustration.  One of the books is a social commentary on marriage/motherhood from my perspective and the other is a fictional piece about the war in Iraq.  Unfortunately, until recently, the only people I could picture reading my work were certain disagreeable persons that would most certainly disapprove of every blemish and situation painted in non-flattering light.  No wonder I am so defensive of my writing when that dreadful cursor represents not only the literary, but the nonfictional antagonist?

Obviously what I've been doing doesn't work and it doesn't pay to write to the "millions of adoring fans" that someday may exist for both concepts breed poor writing on a fundamental level and demonstrate overall bad judgement.  I've tried writing to my husband and son, but that requires politically correct wording of sensitive topics and quite a bit of editing for parental purposes.  Again, fail.  

So ... now what? 

Well, after searching these past several months, I think I have finally found the cure to my cursor-phobia.  There is only one person I can write to without fear of miscommunication or judgement and this one person knows the truth behind the words as they are meant in my heart: God.  Regardless of your belief or disbelief in His existence, the mere philosophical conception of someone knowing you in such intimate terms makes it safe to spill your deepest, darkest secrets for what is there to fear in telling someone what they already know and accept you for any way?  That being a dramatic cue for creativity and expression, faith thus re-enters from stage left.  

When my world changed a few years ago, I was terrified I'd never fully recover from the loss of my perceived "self."  I have been quick to draw excuses for my choices so as to avoid criticism from those I knew wouldn't understand my deliberate steps backward into the women's roles of yesteryear.  I think I previously applied the label "writer" as merely a bandaid to get me through the conversations that painstakingly linked the words "just" with "mother."  But, to quote a friend of mine, "you bloom where God plants you" and, while I wouldn't have picked this position for myself, I am slowly coming to appreciate the wisdom behind my true calling... 

I was good at what I did before, but I am better at what I do now.  My world is as it should be and the weight of doubt, fear and shame is dissipating.  I am a mother and my heart song isn't for sale to the lowest bidder with the wittiest censure.  Let those who disapprove move on and, with the grace of God, may I never lose faith at their hands again. I understand that there is no guarantee of a best selling novel or even a published short story, but with an intended audience of One (plus a few kind friends who overlook misspellings) at least I know I am living up to the purpose of self-growth and faith.  Afterall, not all flowers are meant to be seen - some bloom far from our neighborhood gardens, off the beaten trails and away from the eye of human consumption.  That placement doesn't make those blossoms any less beautiful than they naturally are. 

A flower is a flower and, as such, I shall bloom where I am placed.