Somewhere at the end of the month, I glanced at a calendar and realized that I had been blogging for a whole 2 years. While this might not sound impressive, and why should it, I find it amazing.
It’s amazing that somehow, despite not really wanting this, I have it.
It’s amazing to me that anyone shows up to read the words I write when I feel certain some days that they mean nothing.
And it’s amazing that somehow, a few days a week, for two years, I have managed to find something to write about in the first place. Not to mention, having done so while raising babies, battling pain, and surrendering to the ministry God has for me.
I am not a writer. Whatever small, unspoken, secret wish I held to be a writer, blogging has suffocated. This blog demands something else entirely.
I write, but I am not a writer. This truth has become painfully obvious and while it breaks my heart to admit, I also find some amount of comfort in finally knowing.
Modern Reject is not mine and to be clear, it’s not yours either. I won’t give you some line about how this blog belongs to you, and the community you’ve helped create. While I count you as as family (I really do) this blog was taken away from you and me a long time ago.
I am not a writer because this blog has become His. God allowed me the opportunity to start a sort of ministry, full of His provision and kindness in unexpected places. I write because I am constantly reminded that I should, not because it’s pretty or sexy.
(Last week, for instance, I briefly expressed some discouragement I had been feeling thanks to a few not-so-kind emails from readers. You all, once again, rallied around me in such encouraging and inspiring ways. I always feel a bit guilty, as if I’m fishing for compliments or needing my ego stroked. I’m sure some people might think that is the case, but I’ve just come to a point where being honest surpasses the need to be protected.
I trust you with my feelings. I have to.)
But, I wish this was the place where I had found some clear, rich, inner writing voice full of depth and beauty–one that would spill out onto the page ready to be consumed and enjoyed. But, it’s not. I am not.
Modern Reject found its own voice, one of exhortation and admonishment, instruction and truth-chasing. I never planned for it to go this way. It simply has.
God took me there and I had no choice but to come along.
I regret in some ways that I haven’t made Modern Reject something else–something more personal, or softer, more feminine, or more agreeable. I wonder if I have that kind of voice within me at all and if I do, will I ever have the chance to meet her…
But, I cannot linger in regret. I can only pause for a moment and then acknowledge with a heart full of thankfulness for what God created here. And for you.I will not regret what He didn’t allow somewhere else.
Happy (belated) Blogiversary, Modern Reject. May this year be the best yet.