Off and Running
Well, I guess this makes it official. My blog is born.
Welcome.
Love for Writing
The written word has long captivated my imagination. A scan of my life reveals a love for writing dating back to my childhood years in elementary school.
I was first compelled to put a pencil to paper while watching episodes of my favorite show at the time, MacGyver, about a secret agent who hates guns but can make explosives out of bubble gum, Windex, and a paperclip. After having my 8-year-old mind completely blown away by MacGyver’s weekly brilliance, I’d grab a stack of paper, fold it in half like a book, and attempt to rewrite the episode from memory in a narrative format. I usually never made it more than a few pages, though, because the next episode would inspire me to start a new one.
In fourth grade, when I wasn’t drawing pictures of The Karate Kid and Freddy Krueger, I was writing love poems to the women I had crushes on. And by “women,” I mean two elegant eighth-grade girls who seemed to be light years down the road in terms of life experience. They were definitely women in my mind. Unfortunately, I never had the courage to deliver the poems, so they just accumulated in my spiral-bound notebook.
On second thought, that was probably for the best.
Fast-forward to my middle school years, when I fell in love with hip-hop. I listened to Nas, Jay-Z, Common, The Roots, Mobb Deep, Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, Wu-Tang Clan, Biggie, Tupac, Gang Starr, Big Pun, and on and on. At some point in eighth grade, I decided to give it a shot for myself.
I first approached rap with loose leaf and a thesaurus in front of me. But well before I began writing verses, I assembled long lists of different rhyming words as a reference tool (this was before I knew that rhyming dictionaries existed).
This love for rap carried into high school, where a few friends and I formed a group called the House of Reps. Our studio was a clothing closet in a member’s bedroom, where we laid down our vocals on a 4-track recorder. In spite of our low-budget operation, I took a great deal of pride in every verse I wrote, paying incredibly close attention to word choice and rhyme scheme. In the end, I never finished an album or went on tour, but I walked away with some tracks and loved every minute of the creative process.
The various writing endeavors continued beyond high school as well. Early on in college, I began brainstorming with a friend about a book idea regarding some experiences with bullying and violence that we had endured in high school. We developed a timeline of events and an outline for the book, but we never completed the project.
I also started keeping a journal about midway through my undergrad years. One of those black-and-white marble composition books. Over a seven-year period, I filled 14 of those notebooks—cover to cover—capturing fond memories, powerful quotes, moving stories, hilarious moments, spiritual growth, and personal struggles. Hundreds, if not thousands, of handwritten pages.
And as life picked up speed, my journal was eventually replaced by Facebook posts. That forum just allowed for quicker documentation. In the last six years, I’ve archived my Facebook content in a Word document, which has surpassed 500 pages.
So, as you can see, writing, in one form or another, has sort of followed me throughout my life. There’s no major period of time when I wasn’t writing about something.
Another Follower
Although writing has certainly followed me over the years, emerging at every major moment and milestone in my life, something else has followed me as well, proving itself to be every bit as present as the writing.
And that something is simply this: a lack of follow-through.
Even if you review my examples above, you’ll notice this pattern developing. I begin one MacGyver book but then toss it to the side to start another. I write my poetry but then let it sit in the notebook. I start rapping but then fail to complete a project. And I prepare to write a book but then never move past the outline.
I start but don’t finish.
And sometimes I don’t even start. To this day, there are writing dreams that I haven’t even begun in any way, shape, or form. Memoirs and screenplays that float around my head.
Over the years, I’ve tried to get down to the root of my procrastination and this lack of follow-though. It’s truly puzzled me. How could I reconcile this genuine passion for writing with such a limited portfolio and shoddy work habits? I realize, as with most human behaviors and mindsets, that these issues are multilayered, so I won’t isolate any single item as the only culprit.
Nevertheless, there’s one factor that has repeatedly surfaced in my attempts to sort through all of this.
Fear of Imperfection
The easiest, and most common, way to label it is a fear of failure, although—at least in my case—it might be more accurately described as a fear of imperfection. Here’s how I’ve seen it play out.
I’ll have an idea for an album, a book, or a screenplay. In my mind, the album sells millions, the book wins a Pulitzer Prize, and the screenplay brings home an Oscar. At worst, it’s a lust for fame; at best, it’s a desire to genuinely impact countless lives. And in reality, I probably move along a spectrum between the two. But the point is, I have high hopes and big dreams for these writing ventures that swirl around my brain.
Of course, for my hope to have any shot at becoming a reality, the ideas can’t remain in my head. They must be transferred from the fantasy world to the real world. Thoughts must make their way to paper.
““It’s not that I’m afraid I’d write the worst book or the weakest screenplay. It’s more so that I’m afraid I’d produce a less-than-perfect work, which would have a less-than-life-changing impact on the audience.””
As simple as that may sound, I’ve traditionally had two monumental problems with making that transition. One, to bring my ideas to life means that they may not be as perfect as I had imagined them to be. And two, to bring my ideas to life means that they may not be as impactful as I had hoped they’d be.
You see, as long as they stay in my mind, I have my Oscar. As long as they remain in the realm of possibility, I’m a best-selling author. As long as they are kept safe inside, lives are deeply touched by my work.
When I hear fear of failure, I think of this fear that things will go nowhere and absolutely collapse. I think of rock bottom and zero impact when I envision failure.
But that’s not what I fear.
It’s not that I’m afraid I’d write the worst book or the weakest screenplay. It’s more so that I’m afraid I’d produce a less-than-perfect work, which would have a less-than-life-changing impact on the audience. That, I believe, is what has held me back most significantly from wholehearted commitment as a writer.
My prayer is that that’s changing.
Identity Crisis
This brief snapshot of my history as a writer reveals my love for writing and my barrier to writing, both of which are very real. And not only do I have a love for writing, but I also have a natural pull towards it. In other words, writing isn’t just something I enjoy doing; it’s something I long to do more of. On top of that, I may actually be a gifted writer, as some have kindly suggested.
So what does that mean?
Well, I believe that the combination of a love for writing, a pull towards writing, and a gift of writing reflects God’s unique design in creating me and mapping out the days of my life (Psalm 139:16). These qualities shed some light on the potential direction the Lord would have me walk in. They give me an idea of some particular ways that he might want me to invest my time and energy.
It’s not that they leave me with a crystal-clear, step-by-step blueprint for my life, but they do leave me with something to consider at every turn. How can I love my wife and children? How should I serve my church? What can I offer my community? Which career path is most fitting? I’m not claiming that writing is always the answer, but, at the very least, it’s always a point of consideration as I explore these critical questions.
““Therefore, in order to protect my identity, I had to protect my writing. If my writing was subpar, so was I. But as long as my writing remained a future plan, then I remained a brilliant writer and a person of great value.””
So, on the one hand, we have my love for writing, which I believe reflects God’s good design. And on the other hand, we have my barrier to writing, that fear of imperfection, which I believe reflects a distorted relationship to writing within my identity. My sense of worth has been erroneously entangled with the quality and impact of my writing for far too long, evidenced by the paralysis that has set in along the way.
Any sense of failure would have been interpreted as a personal strike against me. Any bit of criticism would have been received as a shot to the core of who I am. Therefore, in order to protect my identity, I had to protect my writing. If my writing was subpar, so was I. But as long as my writing remained a future plan, then I remained a brilliant writer and a person of great value. Because the minute my ideas enter reality, that could all change. I'd then lose control, and my writing would be at the mercy of an audience.
That identity, as you might imagine, is far too fragile to maintain and far too shallow to bring joy. Moreover, that mindset demonstrates a mishandling of God’s design.
Shift in Perspective
About four years ago, the idea of launching my own blog began to surface. Blogging had become a medium that I had started utilizing with increasing regularity as a reader, and I found myself benefiting greatly from the blogs that I had started following. As I pondered the idea, I ran into the same internal resistance that I had encountered with every other writing pursuit (hence why it’s taken four years to get to this point).
All the usual suspects gathered around, and the idea of starting a blog made itself at home with all the other dreams in the back of my head. So I had this amazing blog with millions of readers, which generated a steady stream of income. My wife was able to stay home, and I was making a living as a full-time writer.
It was epic.
Or it would have been, if it weren’t imaginary. Clearly, a shift in how I saw writing and how I saw myself were in order before I’d ever pull the trigger.
First, I knew that my view of writing had been elevated to an unhealthy and unhelpful level. The quality and impact of my writing had become my ultimate goal. Anything less than critical acclaim and testimony after testimony about how my writing had changed someone’s life meant that I had wasted my time.
I had forgotten a very basic truth, namely that my love and talent for writing were both gifts from God (James 1:17), intended to be used for his purposes and his glory, not my own (1 Corinthians 10:31).
““And I’ve now reached a point where I believe I would be sidestepping my responsibility and neglecting God’s design if I refuse to write with greater intention and commitment.””
At the end of the day, writing is a tool. Even with all my passion for writing and my love for words and my belief in the captivating and healing power of the craft, it is simply a means to an end. It is one item on an endless list of things that share the same overarching purpose statement as all of creation. And that purpose statement is this:
“All things were created through him and for him,” (Colossians 1:16) “for from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be glory forever” (Romans 11:36).
Writing is from God.
Writing is through God.
Writing is to God.
Writing is for God.
That is the proper view of writing that I had been missing.
In the end, the quality and impact of my writing is, in a very real sense, none of my business. Not to say that I shouldn’t diligently labor to excel in this arena; it’s just an acknowledgement that God is sovereign over the outcome on every level.
My role is to strive to be a good steward over the gifts and opportunities that the Lord lays before me, recognizing that they really belong to him. They, too, are from him and for him. And I’ve now reached a point where I believe I would be sidestepping my responsibility and neglecting God’s design if I refuse to write with greater intention and commitment.
Lastly, before getting this blog off the ground, I not only had to adjust my view of writing, but I also had to correct my view of myself. I needed to remind myself of where my identity must be firmly rooted. Instead of embracing the thin and fragile identity of being a “perfect” writer, I turned to my identity in Christ.
The truth is, writing can be taken from me; Christ cannot. I’m one injury away from being unable to ever write again, yet not even death can separate me from Christ (Romans 8:38-39).
So regardless of whether 10 or 10 million people read my blog, I’ll be okay. Whether people love or hate my writing, I’ll be okay.
I’m not saying I’m beyond disappointment or sadness if my writing is criticized or ignored, but in those moments, I'll lean on my unchanging position before the God of the universe, knowing that through Christ I’m forgiven, adopted, and loved.
Nevertheless, I gladly welcome all the readers I can get.
May this be a place of encouragement for you.
Grace upon grace.
