{The Conundrums of Christian Writing and Blogging}
In the fall of 2006, I got a new boss. He arrived on the
scene after two years of searching, two years marked by upheaval in my life,
personally and professionally. I had
been working as an Associate Pastor, part-time, for almost ten years by then,
and I was deeply relieved to welcome him and to learn to work with him and for
him.
One of the first things he asked me to do was start a blog.
Yes, you read that right. My boss, the senior pastor, asked me to begin writing
my heart on a blog. He already had one, and used it for brief reflections on
life and ministry, very rarely for anything personal.
But I’m not wired in the same way, and when I was invited to
write, I chose to get pretty vulnerable, pretty quickly. And I loved it. I was
careful, especially when trying to write out the difficulties that always
attend a new working relationship. I tried to make it about me, and what I was thinking/feeling.
And, for the most part, I found my way to a pretty good balance. I posted
infrequently, about once or twice a month for that first year. I learned to
import photos, and often chose to write about my family, especially my
grandkids.
But in July of 2007, something hard happened. Our son-in-law
was in the midst of a long and very difficult dying, suffering from the
after-effects of intensive radiation to his head and neck when he was a
teenager. Our daughter was trying to finish a masters’ degree in special education,
so that she could go to work after fifteen years as a homemaker. Her husband
was on full disability at that point, and they desperately needed medical
insurance. Her program required a 10-week internship at a hospital 400 miles
north of her home and she worked like a champ to make everything happen. Some
weeks, her husband was well enough to go with her, but some weeks, he needed to
be closer to home.
We housed her husband and two younger sons (the eldest was
working at a camp on Catalina Island that summer) for one of those closer-to-home
weeks. And that experience was one of the most difficult times I’ve ever walked
through. Watching someone you love suffer -- and watching how that suffering
impinges on the lives of two young people -- well, it was hard, sad, painful. .
. there are no words.
But I tried to find them anyhow. I wrote a post, not using
names, about watching this particular kind of suffering. I finished it late one
night, posted it and went to bed. At 7:00 the next morning, I went in and
removed it, feeling unsettled about writing something so deeply personal.
The post was up for less than twelve hours.
But in that time, someone close to him found it and was
deeply wounded by it. I was crushed -- repentant, sorrowful, so sorry for causing pain
and for further complicating my daughter’s life. My heroic girl was already
exhausted and overwhelmed and my post made everything worse.
I crossed a line, one that I deeply regret.
My blog was silent for nearly two years after that. Even
though my boss read that piece and was deeply appreciative and affirming about
it, I could no longer find either the words or the courage to write them down
in that space. I felt ashamed, and that shame forced me into silence, a silence
that lasted a long time.
At the beginning of 2009, I tentatively returned to my site
to write about my son-in-law’s beautiful memorial service. For the next couple
of years, I used the blog almost exclusively to post public prayers and
sermons, very seldom delving into anything personal.
Until I retired.
And something inside me opened and hasn’t shown signs of
closing anytime soon. I believe that openness came from two things: 1.) a
deliberate, prayerful attempt to move away from shame and to believe in
forgiveness; and 2.) a delightful spaciousness in my schedule.
So, in January of 2011, I began writing in earnest - usually
2-3 times a week, and almost always about very personal things. During the
months that I stepped away from the blog, I had learned about myself, about
life, about writing. Most importantly I had learned this: tell stories about what I’m
learning and how I’m learning it. TELL MY STORIES, not someone else’s.
Sifting that out can sometimes be tricky. I’m walking
through the end of my mom’s life now, and I write about that frequently. But
she knows I’m writing about it (when she can remember), and I always try to
talk about her beauty, her warmth, her goodness, in addition to the harder
stuff. I do not write about my grandchildren, except to proclaim how marvelous
they are, never about where I’m worried or concerned for them. I write honestly
about my marriage, but I don’t write about some of the deeply personal things
that are just for us.
And I pray every time my fingers hit these keys, asking for
wisdom, discretion, truth. I also trust: I trust that God hears and answers
those prayers, I trust that if I overstep at any point, some kind soul will
tell me, I trust that what I do with these words comes as a direct result of
God’s call on my life to write my stories
down.
A retired-part-time-pastor-learning-to-be-a-spiritual-director with a family Diana adores, she senses an increasingly urgent call to write-her-life-down, to preserve her sanity and create some space to breathe. You can find her here, at her blog, Just Wondering--where she tells the stories God is writing in her life. She can also be found tweetering here on Twitter.
{**Have you seen Kelli Woodford's series: Brave Words?
It'sback again! This is going to be delicious. Please stop over there
today and give her trembling, brave heart some love. Click here.}
**{Requirements for link-up: Please no maligning/no mention in a negative manner of other blogs/authors/writers/brothers & sisters in Christ. Hurt does happen in community, and if we write about that, one option is to change the name/situation/dates, so that the people involved remain anonymous and are protected. "Whoever would foster love covers over an offense, but whoever repeats the matter separates close friends." Proverbs 17:9}
--Other posts in this series below:
In Which I Invite Us All to the Table --Nacole Simmons
A Hand In Your Own -- a guest post from Kelli Woodford
A Divided Loyalty and the Stinging Truth --a guest post from Michelle DeRusha
Rooted In A Tangible Grace -- Kelli Woodford
On Prostitution: Cheap Grace and One Word: Enough --Nacole Simmons
In The End, Three Things Remain --a guest post from Holly Grantham
What I Want You to Know About Mental Illness, Social Media, and Community --Nacole Simmons
