Seems blogging these days is largely the domain of young moms. Beautiful, spunky young moms who seem to have a lot of answers. Or very educated men, professors and scholars of all ages, also with answers. Or how about those with a bone to pick who want to steer a person in the right direction. And, of course, those people have lots of answers.
Then I toss my hat in the ring. Woman in her forties. Children mostly raised. Not an expert at anything, and glaringly lacking at answers. But here I am.
I’m also not the greatest sharer (is that a word??). Being vulnerable isn’t easy, but I’m working on it. Might be the biggest reason God wants me to do this. Having no answers also isn’t easy, not when it seems everyone else knows something. In my four decades, what I’ve learned best is that I don’t know much. But that’s what I have to share, so I need to do it.
I graduated with a degree in writing. Summa cum laude. With honors. I could write sensual romance, and I would make money. I could join the ranks of DIY bloggers or budget bloggers, and I might have large followings and be able to monetize my blog. Perhaps my dream of moving out of the suburbs and onto a big piece of land, my dream since I was eight, would come true. (See? I can share after all!!)
However, like the prophet Jeremiah, every time I open my mouth, God comes out. My fiction includes Christian romance with teen/college-age heroines and heroes. I write historical fantasy with a Christian bent. Let’s get real here. Nobody does that. It’s writing career suicide. And yet, whatever my plan when I start, most of the stuff I write comes out that way. It appeals to few. (I do have a couple non-genre-bending series in the works, including a contemporary Christian romance series, so perhaps God has taken pity on me, and I will put out something with more mass appeal. We’ll see.)
I don’t have a great niche for blogging except I’m old. No international adoptions in my past. I don’t have ten kids; I have four. No special needs kids. No time spent living abroad in missionary capacity. I don’t homestead or live off the grid. The only reason to read what I write is that God keeps saying Write Down Your Story. Maybe that means someone out there is supposed to read it. Or perhaps I’m supposed to read it, and God will use my story in written words to speak truths to me that I missed the first time around.
Parents today like expert advice. They like new techniques. I don’t have those, but I can tell you what worked for me. And what didn’t. There are fancy new Bible studies out there with lovely photos and poetic prose about living the best spiritual life ever. I can tell you about falling on my face a million times but still sticking the course. I can talk about failure. I can talk about doubt. I can talk about victories and silver linings. I can say it with correct grammar and decent sentence structure, but beyond that, all I can do is keep it real and put it out there.
If you want all the answers or young, pretty bloggers or great inspiration, this isn’t the place. If you want someone who some days wants to throw in the towel and write what sells, envies success, you’re closer. If you want to read about a common soul with a lot of miles, including regrets, defeats, victories, joys, and tears, then welcome. It’s not always a pretty course, but it’s mine. I’d love to hold your hand and walk a few miles in the sunshine–and the rain–and chat about things.
And even if you don’t, I’ll still be here saying them. When I don’t, it’s a fire shut up in my bones, or so says Jeremiah (chapter 20), and holding it in is worse than letting it out. I’ve quit blogging more than once, but I always get sent back here. So here I stand. Better than having smoldering bones.