Blogging is Pointless?
This is my fear.
What do you do with feeling a sense of desire and urgency to do something, like writing, and wonder if the cacophony of noise in the world leaves any room for what you have to offer being a good and helpful thing to offer?
If I write in blog form, do I impinge upon others in their busy time and over-promised scheduled in hoping they read it?
What if I haven’t read all the news articles, or all the policy briefs, or watched the entire spectrum of news opinions — what right (authority) do I still have to contribute my voice in the midst of an issue? And by the way, besides paying a fee for this website, what credibility do I have to be a read and listened to when everyone and quite possibly also their dog has signed up for a blog and puts down their words and believes them to be the greatest words since words about sliced bread?
Maybe none.
Honestly, I can’t police if you read. But you won’t know unless I bring it up. And then the choice is up to you. And honestly, I’ve heard a number of writers I respect speaking about this point in a writer’s life and work. Truth really is, my job is the creating and then releasing it. How it gets used isn’t an area I have much, if any, control over. And this invites me into faith and grace. This invitation to connect to what is deeply true within me, and to be faithful to my createdness. From that connection, to find a way to offer what is unique and within me to the world, for the sake of the health and healing of the world, for the sake of justice for my brothers and sisters, for the sake of the transformation of the world into something that resembles a place of goodness, wholeness, and compassion. And it neither hurts nor is it unfaithful of irresponsible to also write because it brings me so much damn joy and internal wholeness.
And yet, I combat this wound to my voice. Years ago and through the years, I began to believe that what I wanted to say, regardless of what it was, would be the wrong thing to say. I began to second-guess my own internal contribution, not because I assessed it and found it lacking, but because a few responses here or there hurt to receive, felt especially disrespectful of my humanness, and I began to consider that just because it was mine, it was likely wrong. I work on recovering from this wound regularly. I suppose if I endeavored in a role as a mime, I might be able to just let this wound lie. But I doubt it, because I believe in the inherent value and worth of every single human being, and a huge part of this dignity is our right to our own voice. I believe in this with so much passion, that it seems to be something of a calling of mine to empower and protect a person’s voice, and right to their voice. I’m a big believer in passing the microphone, especially as a person of privilege.
Except, when passing the microphone becomes a defense mechanism to avoid dealing with my own wound, it becomes a problem. And as I endeavor to be an ordained minister, my board was right to point out recently that I am ‘struggling to claim my pastoral authority.’ I received this feedback with a chuckle and humble acceptance, replying, ‘yes, this is the professional way to describe this personal voice wound I’m trying to get a handle on.’
As a minister and a human being, I believe it is important to address and cultivate healing for our wounds. I believe in this day, this time, and this age, it is especially important that each and every person learn that their voice is worthwhile, and worthy of being heard. I believe that our world is best served when we are addressing our own wounds, leaning into our created and creative energy, and striving to offer our gifts to the world for the sake of honoring the entire human family and the whole planet.
So, even if the only people who read this are my family members and a few polite friends, I will show up to write. My hope is I will be a good steward of my gifts, honor my voice and yours, and learn to release the outcome in a way that trusts the Spirit in whom I claim faith.
