I was inspired this weekend by a couple of things.
First, a friend of mine started a blog recently (www.abrahambates.com), the energy with which he writes is infectious, fun, and informative but the candid way he writes about his faith and family has been a little convicting for me, a man who writes with, by and large, a critical and negative voice. In the history of my blog there have been some positive, light moments but they are few and far between and if I am trapped with despondent view on life then my blocks of silence bear witness to my fear, insecurity, and general laziness in the craft/discipline of writing. I have said it before, I will probably say it again, but I am a writer who fails to write and it leaves the identity I long to full-fill an empty husk crushed under the considerable weight of my insecurities, fears, and the sinking stuck feeling that I carry with me from one temporary carpentry job to the next. The second inspiration came in the form of the resurrection of Christ.
This is, of course, a pivotal element in my faith as a Christian, a faith that I am reluctant (refer to my fears as a writer) to share period, much less on my blog as a regular feature of who I am.
But this weekend, being Easter, I was struck by the insurmountable power of the living God to resurrect Jesus from the grave, in the process, overcoming death and bequeathing, upon his followers, the power of the Holy Spirit. If God can resurrect the tortured, battered, defeated human body of Jesus, surely my fears are a footnote in the list of obstacles to be overcome.
These two inspirations came in a one two combination this morning as a license to re-invent my blog, or, rather, change the tune of how/why I write.
Originally this was a blog started on the cusp of life change. I was staring an impending layoff in the face and eager to strike out in new directions and pursue a new career in come-what-may. But what came was another carpentry job and then another and another and another again and I slipped into the voice of a trapped and near desperate man struggling to tread water.
I imagine that when you are treading water and the sharks are circling all you can really see are the sharks and all you can really focus on is keeping your head above water, the sunset spilled in the color of blood oranges so close you could reach your fingers into its sticky juice is an after thought if it registers at all. But I was struck this weekend that, yeah, I maybe treading water and, sure, the sharks are circling, but I still choose to look up at the sunset and for a moment I can close my eyes and the sun can cast its fading warmth on my face and slowly rest into the water, letting my feet rise to the surface and float for a little while. It has been impressed upon me that I am able to focus on some of the things I find inspiring and engaging and maybe a little sappy and sentimental.
We are (my family and I) again on the cusp of change, preparing to enter into a season of radical change and uncertainty but it is a change of our choosing and I feel released to make a choice, empowered by the Resurrection and inspired by friends writing with a candid voice about their family, faith, and role in life.
For a moment tonight I was prepared to scrap this blog all together, bury King St. Industries and start somewhere new but a blog, mine anyways, is a reflection of my organic, evolving story of who I am, what I am, where I am. I am quite sure that I will not leave the dark and troubled waters behind me and I don't know if I will ever have the luxury to do any more than tread water, but I am damn sure going to choose to look at the sunset.
