The Truth

I don't know why I write this blog.

There. I said it.

The truth is I started writing again because one of the things we are told as writers is to write what we want to read, and frankly, I can't find much I want to read. I'm sick of being lectured on things. I'm sick of whining "conservatives" who just drone on and on about the presidential election and what a mess the politics in the United States are. I'm tired of the religious walls. I don't want to read anymore about any of it.

I read David Baldacci books.

And the worst part is I read them because I can relate to the characters.

His characters are warriors that have this numb or dead space either someone, life situations, or they have created that allow them to act in ways that the general populace doesn't like. These characters are detached, and while they realize they are not the norm and don't really have the emotional capability for happily ever after, they realize they are good at what they do, so they do jobs--in the trenches, ugly jobs--that the general populace would find too distasteful or immoral to do.

And I read those characters, and I see me.

Then I sit down at this computer and try to write about life and what is happening and give it some deep spiritual spin because I have this idea that surely someone else out there is looking for something not like everything else, but I have begun to doubt that.

I write things that are poetic and emotional, and people read those, but when I write things that could actually change someone's life, those pretty much get ignored. Honestly, it makes me think people want a place to commiserate but not a place to change their lives, and I seriously stink at the whole commiserating thing.

I quit writing for months and months. Part of that is because I really needed time to be silent, to hear God, to not have voices with opinions and advice. Part of it is because I felt like I was believing a lie that I made a difference, that lives were somehow better, that somehow people were finding God in what I wrote.

I started writing again because I thought I could present Truth in a way that drew people to God, that in understanding spiritual disciplines or how to develop intimacy or some other spiritual teaching someone might find a clearer path to Him or deeper intimacy with Him, but I have to be honest, I think I was wrong.

When I wrote during the first few years after Rob died and things changed, several people said my strength is that I write my heart. Well, here is the truth, I don't write my heart anymore. I have no desire to put it out on display for people to comment on and criticize or judge and not understand.

Sitting beside me on the floor is my brother's dog, Merida. She is with us for a few weeks while he does long hours of overtime for work. She looks up at me confused because she doesn't know why she is here, why things are so unfamiliar, and where my brother is. I reach down and pet her and tell her it's okay, I"m here because I totally relate.

Merida just gave a deep sigh and lay down on the rug by my bed. I guess she got tired of roaming the house looking for my brother and trying to figure things out. That is very much how I feel, and I don't have a deep spiritual lesson for you.

You know, spiritual teachers and leaders don't talk about being lost in the desert while they are in the desert. They talk about it after the fact, when they don't look crazy and flakey and when they have some deep faith lesson to tell us all.

Well, y'all, I'm in the desert, and I can tell you that I believe God is faithful, loving, and kind. I don't doubt Him or His character, but right now, I feel barren with nothing to offer, and there are two ways to go with this: letting His strength show through my weakness or like David's men, go back to camp until I am useful again. I guess we'll both have to wait until tomorrow to figure out which it'll be.

Until...
Shalom...