lessons

Last night I was reading about Adoniram Judsam, they call him the father of modern missions, and his wife, Anna. Along their journey to Burma, she sent long letters back home chronicling the adventures they had encountered and the life they were leading. It was presumably because of her letters home that their legacy even exists. She died early, but she left her trail in print.

I can't get it out of my head. Everytime I sit down to write here, I stop and erase because I don't want to be too forward or share too much. I'm gun shy because someone left me a comment that this should be a private blog- which in haste I deleted- because it embarrassed me. It made me second guess myself and my writing, whether I really should keep my sacred things private or share my guts for the sake of another. But while I was reading a plug for GK Chesterton's autobiography, I discovered that there were hundreds of books, articles, and stories that he had written in his lifetime. I want to read every single one of them because he is a phenomenal writer. I want to know everything about him.

It's because of something I read in Orthodoxy that I have even come to this point. He says that we need to not take ourselves too seriously; that birds fly because they are soft and light, they can fly above everything in their world. Rocks sit still, in the same spot, accomplishing nothing because they are hard and heavy.

We have a breakfast meeting this morning and after I dressed for it, I stood in the mirror twisting and turning and adjusting for about fifteen minutes. I was so concerned about this little roll around my middle right above the waistband of my pants. Seriously... I care that much. No one else cares about it, but I almost changed because someone might notice this imperfection. Listen, for three months I've been working really hard to whittle down the remnants of five pregnancies and have had enormous success. I'm not there yet, but pleased. And still I twist and turn and wiggle. I take myself way too seriously.

In an interview with Jill Scott, the interviewer asked, "Are you nervous about singing and following Erykah Badu?" She laughed a hearty whole belly laugh and said, "Have you ever seen me perform?" The scene cut immediately to her singing her first song and it was-- yeah. It was like that. I don't know that anyone reading this blog even knows either of them, but Erykah Badu is beautiful and eccentric and tiny and has this really specific style about her music. Totally confident. Jill Scott is pretty and not small and smiles a lot- and then you hear her sing and she is- she's in another dimension.

I have hidden behind this wall of insecurity my whole life and while, like my waist, I have worked hard to whittle it away, I am pretty sure I have landblasted it in my head with these recent confirmations of myself.

When I write, similar to when I run, I feel like I'm flying. It's the thing I was born to do. So I'm writing and running with all my might. Who knows how many days I have left. Anna was 37 when she died. God grant me the mercy to share my life for the sake of a soul.