I come to the screen this evening feeling like I am writing more of a journal entry than a blog post.  I guess that’s a good thing, but it is so very hard for me.  You see, up until recently when I began this 6-weeks of raw writing, I still had the option to “pretty-up” things when I didn’t like the way they sounded, but now I can no longer hide behind my words.

I came home from my writing class this afternoon just a big bundle of nerves.  This class is actually very layed-back.  It’s not a college course or anything too demanding, but somehow, by the end of each 2 1/2 hours, I leave with my heart pounding in my ears and my chest as tight as a vice grip.  I want to be there.  I need to be there.  And at the same time, it’s driving me crazy listening to the beautiful writing of my classmates!  I swear there are some budding novelists in my midst – mixtures of Jeanette Walls (The Glass Castle), Ann Lamotte, and Maya Angelou all wrapped-up into one.  It’s not that I even feel jealous of their gifts.  I just feel confused.  We are all writing for the same 10-minutes and the images that come from their pens so effortlessly astound me.  Perhaps, with lots of effort and editing, I might be able to come-up with something similar; however, I truly don’t think my mind works in the same manner.  I have all kinds of thoughts and feelings rumbling around in my head demanding to be expressed.  But images and poetry?  They just aren’t there for easy retrieval.

Lest you think I’m having a pity party for myself, really I’m not.  I’m just trying to figure-out why I feel so uptight about this process.  When my husband came home from work, we had a rare few moments by ourselves in which I muttered something about being laced with anxiety over my writing class.  He didn’t say much at first, but came downstairs after changing out of his work clothes and made a comment that totally changed my thinking.  Sometimes, I have to ask myself what it is that I am wanting to get out of my work/my career or I drive myself crazy knowing that I am surrounded by a bunch of geniuses.  I try to focus on what it is that I can offer.  What makes me unique.

That’s it.  I am becoming more aware of the talent around me and wondering what it is that I want to get out of writing.  Do I want pats on the back on what a good writer I am, or do I just want to make a difference?  While I admit, it is nice to receive compliments and to feel stellar, what I really want is to help other women through the sharing of my experiences both in writing and art.  I feel like I have God-sized dreams with mediocre gifts to carry them out.  I suppose there comes a point when we realize where our power runs-out and God steps-in and this is where I am right now.  God doesn’t put desires in our hearts and then just leave us on our own.  I think of Moses and how he tried to argue with God about his less than stellar speaking abilities.  I think of David, the small little guy, who knocked Goliath off his feet with a sling-shot.  These fellows didn’t carry-out God’s will on their own power.  They simply allowed God to work through them.

So, I am accepting that I am where I am right now for a certain reason.  What a comfort it is to know that God uses the weak to do mighty things.

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