Here goes

As someone who encourages people to just write on a fairly regular basis, I could certainly use a dose of my own medicine.  I’m a notorious conceptualist who, very often, leaves ideas to endlessly swim around in my head without ever incarnating them.  For how much I enjoy writing, my output is pretty pitiful.  Probably because I want things to be perfect before I let them into the world.  Probably because I want things I create to be bulletproof, when in reality that’s not only not possible, but it probably shouldn’t be.  Anything worth anything probably stands a strong chance of being hateable, or at least not particularly likeable.

Reading that first paragraph back to myself, it kind of sounds like self-sabotage, not particularly cheery, and it’s probably not the best way to start off my first ever blog entry but you know what?  I’m leaving it as is.  Because part of this is an exercise in me learning to let go of my own image management.  It’s learning to put flesh on thoughts even when they’re not pristine.  I’m not trying to take the “this is who I am, take it or leave it, I don’t need to change”approach.  Quite the opposite; I’m hoping that through this I will become more aware of my own faults and where I need to grow.  But I am trying to loosen my grip on some of my perfectionist tendencies.  It’s about me trying something that feels daunting and even sheepish to me and pushing past that initial self-editing and just stepping off the ledge (sometimes with run-on sentences), even when to most people it’s probably like “chill out dude it’s just a blog.”

While most people consider singing in front of people (especially songs you’ve written) one of the most vulnerable things you can do, I’ve been doing it long enough now that I don’t really have to think twice about it.  However, actually letting people in—showing them a glimpse of me beyond what they think they know by whatever means they’ve experienced me—now that freaks me right out.  Because like most people I deeply fear rejection.  And honestly as I’m typing this there’s a million voices going off in my head screaming at me to delete it all, or at least edit it for mercy’s sake.  To make it cleaner.  Because I’m afraid of sounding sappy, or pretentious, or ignorant, or all of those things all at once.  But I’m biting my lip and letting go.

This thing’s proably gonna be pretty eclectic.  I don’t really have a particular theme in mind, and posts will likely cover everything from the theological to the artistic to the relational to everything in between.  I just want to write about things I’m passionate about.  There’ll likely be reflections, reviews, lyrics, etc.  I’m not really holding myself to any one topic or format, and posts likely won’t carry equal weight.  I am hoping that by stepping into this, that those who read it might be a bit braver in pursuing whatever it is that they want to try, but fear failure in.  Even if that’s just looking into someone else’s eyes and being honest for the first time.  And even if mom is the only one who reads this, it will be an exercise in not placing stock in clicks and likes.

A note on the blog’s title—I wasn’t sure what to call this for the longest time.  The phrase was one that came to me a few months back.  It refers to the place where Christ meets me—in my mess and my mending.  In my perpetual state of becoming a New Creation, all the while waiting for the day when He makes it all right.  In the midst of all my failures and unsureties but also in my redemption and all His little graces.  It’s in the deaths and resurrections that are bringing me closer to His likeness in ways I can’t fathom and certainly aren’t by my heart’s strength.

So here goes.