I can’t even begin to count how many times I’ve sat down to write a post and just stared at the screen or started to type and found myself backspacing every word away.
Blogging is a complicated endeavor and when I find myself struggling to string words together in a way that makes sense, I begin to second-guess everything about why I write.
I see specific readers in my mind and I dodge topics that are pressing down on me for fear of stepping on toes or hurting hearts.
I never want to write to make a statement…………….
even though I have a lot of statements I’d like to make.
I never want to write to incite a revolution………………….
although I see a lot of things that could be made better by radical change.
I never want to write just to be seen or even heard………………
and yet I’m fully aware that every word I add to this blog will be read by at least one person.
SO WHY DO I WRITE?
Why do I continue to come back to this little corner of the world even after I’ve made it over a week without adding one new thought?
Why do I sit here so early on a Saturday morning, clicking away at a keyboard, when I could be running to the store or doing something else productive in my house?
I wish I knew.
I wish I knew what woke me up this morning before the sun even began to peek through the window and nudged me out of bed as if to say,
“This is the day.”
“Today you will write even if you think you have no words……………”
I wish I knew why I tried to curl up in Tim’s arms and fight this feeling.
“There’s nothing here,” I could feel my heart whispering to the air.
“I’ve got nothing to offer that hasn’t already been said.”
And yet, it wouldn’t end.
The pressing in.
The reality that sleep had ended while it was still dark and whether I liked it or not,
there were words to type that I couldn’t ignore.
So, I moved through the early morning quiet of our house, making a cup of coffee and wondering where this all would lead me.
I read my Bible first.
I’ve definitely learned that His Word needs to be in me before my words even matter.
I turned the pages softly, surrounded by silence except for the sound of the early-morning birds chirping outside my window.
I’ve been buried in the Old Testament for so long in my chronological Bible that everything I read seems so far away from my own world……..my own Saturday.
David, being pursued by Saul.
Fighting one “ite” after another, while hiding in caves, gathering followers, and gaining wives and plunder along the way.
What in the world do I do with all of these old stories?
How in the world does anything I read in the Bible line up with this crazy life of mine filled with things like
my kids’ busy schedules,
my job and classes,
and my husband’s love for March Madness?
Did David ever wonder how his life lined up with God’s plan?
Did he ever crouch in a cave and think back to the day he was anointed king and think,
“How does this make sense?”
I’m sure the disciples felt the same way the day after Jesus’ crucifixion.
I’m sure their Saturday was a day of wandering and wondering.
I can’t even imagine watching everything I believed to be true being nailed to a cross, leaving me with a sealed tomb and a lot of people mumbling,
“Bless her heart.”
I’ll never know the confusion David felt as he knew he had been called out by God only to find himself being hunted down by Saul.
And I’ll never know the pain of the Saturday after the crucifixion as the disciples struggled to make sense of all they had believed to be so true about the promises of Jesus.
But I do understand having questions.
I do “get” feeling confused and dealing with pain.
I’ve spent a lot of hours of my life trying to figure things out that don’t make sense, and I’ve come up short almost every single time.
There’s so many things about life that just don’t make sense.
I’ve sat with many broken people listening to their stories and found myself wondering how the story of a man on a cross over two thousand years ago could really change anything about what they’re facing.
This Easter story can’t pay bills, take away hurtful words, remove unkind actions, or erase bad memories.
No matter how much power we find in the story of the cross,
we still walk on a planet where crosses can be burned and His story can be muddled up by the very people who claim it’s healing power.
Those days of fearing death at every turn had to be the hardest days in David’s life,
and the day in between the crucifixion and the resurrection had to be the saddest day in the lives of the disciples.
I’m thankful to live on this side of David’s legacy and Jesus’ resurrection.
I’m thankful to hold a Book that contains more than a portion of God’s plan.
And yet if I’m really honest this morning, in spite of all I know and believe, I still struggle.
I still find life very hard.
I still have more questions than answers.
I still over think and worry and wonder.
And maybe, just maybe, that’s why it’s been so hard for me to write lately.
It’s the settling down of the whirlwind that leaves the debris;
and when I force myself to write, the whirlwind suddenly stops.
So, this morning, as I hear the keyboard clicking and feel my whirlwind subsiding, I’m faced with a dilemma.
Do I keep walking a life of Saturdays when I know what happens tomorrow?
I’ve celebrated His resurrection for over forty years, and yet I wander back to Saturday time and time again.
I make the choice to sit beside a sealed tomb when I’m sad or unsure.
I choose to stumble on the road to Golgotha when I beat myself up for everything about me that isn’t quite right,
as if every rock under my feet was placed there just for me.
I feel the pain of every step that leads me closer to the cross.
A life of in-between days is just plain hard.
Tomorrow the world celebrates Jesus’ resurrection.
But today, and every other day, I want to learn how to celebrate it too.