At the beginning of this year, I declared that I wanted to practice writing words I can’t take back. I did and I have, but I keep finding myself not doing that consistently.
Like this morning, for example, I had grand plans to drive directly home and begin to write after taking the girls to school, but instead I somehow found myself with one foot in a cute brown boot in the shoe aisle at Target at the productive hour of 8:15.
Two packages of poster board, one package of stickers, a latte and a library book later, here I sit in my office wondering what is wrong with me. I long for the time to write when the family is home and then avoid it when the house is empty.
I am coming to the conclusion that there is nothing wrong except that I am, in fact, a writer. And putting off writing is often what we do best.
Seriously though, I think sometimes I avoid the page for the same reasons I avoid silence: I’m anxious over what I might find there.
Or worse, that I might not find anything at all.
In some ways I see my job as a writer as one of turning over rocks: I’m not always sure I’ll understand or like what’s beneath the surface, but curiosity insists I turn it over anyway.
And while it’s true that I would often rather not face what critters might be hiding there and that I would often prefer to sit on the rock and watch Netflix, facing my questions by turning over rocks helps me become more fully myself.
And the way I do that is through writing.
When I don’t know where to begin, it’s good to start with what I know for sure about us, you and me:
We want more connecting and less competing.
We want more laughter and less shame.
We want more love and less fear.
The last few weeks I’ve been digging around in my soul to find out what connection, laughter, and love means for my life and the life of my family.
A month ago I told Marion, my spiritual director, that I feel as though I am in the midst of a transitional time. John is nearly a year into his new ministry (!!), my fourth book is launched into the world (!!) and the girls are settled in to their first few months of middle school.
Many things I have been looking toward are now past and I am living in the exhale.
Marion encouraged me to let this open space remain open, to resist the urge to fill it with the next thing. I agreed with her completely, but as I’ve lived into those words I’m realizing how difficult it is to keep the margins wide.
It’s easier to fill a space then it is to keep it empty.
These words from John O’Donohue help, from To Bless the Space Between Us:
You are in this time of the interim where everything seems withheld.
The path you took to get here has washed out; the way forward is still concealed from you.
You cannot lay claim to anything; In this place of dusk, your eyes are blurred;
And there is no mirror. As far as you can, hold your confidence.
Do not allow your confusion to squander.
This call which is loosening your roots in false ground, that you might come free from all you have outgrown.
I don’t have great answers yet, but I see shapes in the distant fog. And for that, I am thankful.
So I will keep writing privately and also here. I will keep turning over rocks. I will keep sitting in the silence even when nothing changes. I will keep listening and waiting and watching. I will keep accepting the invitation of Jesus to be a child in his presence without an agenda.
If you long to create margin but don’t know how, I hope to be kind company, both for your soul and for mine. Sometimes we forget to be kind to ourselves, don’t we? Join me on The Bench for a monthly reminder to create the space your soul needs.
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Oh, how I love this. I’m sitting here trying to write but have found myself on your page (of course through the great and wonderful distracter, Instagram). I’m learning to lean into the discomfort and vulnerability of that curiosity and to keep writing regardless of what I find beneath.
Many things I want to say but I’ll keep it brief and to the point 🙂
First, I just finished your book. It was wonderful and by far one of my favorites I’ve read in a long time. Really hit home for me at this point in my life. Like you, I’m in a transitional period. I went from being a work-a-holic to a stay at home mother. I am CONSTANTLY looking for something to fill the empty space I now have.
After reading your book, I’ve become more mindful of the happenings around me. Enjoying the down time (or trying to.) My soul is so used to busy, sitting still feels like one of the largest battles I’ve endured in some time.
Thank you for your words of encouragement and for touching my life in a very REAL way. Especially in this new season.
“Sometimes I avoid writing for the same reasons I avoid silence: I’m anxious over what I might find there.”
Thank you, thank you for writing this. What a comfort to know I’m not alone. Time for me to turn over those rocks!
I loved this post today. Thanks for this offering. How does one get a spiritual director? I read your book, and remember when reading it seemed a lovely idea. I like the way you get to do community with others. Somehow it reminds me of Madeleine L’Engle. Thankful for the gift of you and your words. And the transition in between.
It’s the same as a spiritual mentor…. pray …ask the Lord to lead you to someone you feel is a bit further along in their walk with Christ….
Beautiful words, and beautiful quote. It seems on any path–wide, narrow, or stagnant–we naturally look around or forward or behind … and Looking Up as we travel is less sensical. But it is of course, everything!
Thanks for helping my wheels turn this morning 🙂
Oh do those words from John O’Donohue help! Thank you for sharing them. They speak right into my season of waiting for the last screw to loosen, for the freedom to come and carry me to what’s next. Praying that I don’t let my confusion squander the call.
Have to say that I identified with a lot of what you’ve expressed here. Thanks for sharing and for the encouragement to continue looking up even when the way is dark and unclear.
Yes, yes, yes. That is exactly what we want. Connection, laughter, love, and NO FEAR. And for me, it seems I end up with more questions when I search for the answers. Thank you for inviting us back to the bench time and again. It’s exactly what my soul as craved.
I’m enjoying reading your new book and participating in the bible study. I will honestly admit that sometimes I read your words and think, “Emily would not like me if she knew me in real life.” Then I get over myself and go back to the book, to your words of what you’ve discovered and what you’ve learned, because there is wisdom there and healing words. Thank you for honestly penning what you have experienced, what you have learned, and sharing who you are.
I’m so glad you’re finding a spot on the bench, Jessie.
Emily this was what my poor muddled little soul needed on this foggy Monday morning. The idea to leave the space open never occurred to me before reading this. Thanks for getting inside my head and heart and helping clear away some of the fog.
I so GRASP and am NODDING HARD with your dilemma of “loving writing while avoiding it at all costs”.
Yes. Target. I live a mile from mine, and get this: it has a Starbucks booby-trap built right in.
“I’ll just grab a pumpkin spice…oh, LOOK: The $1-rack has cute fall bunting banners…”
Wooooossh.
I think…I think I seize up (when I want to be writing) because I worry that I’m wasting time on the wrong projects. (“Is this what God made me for?” “Is this on-brand?”) I’m also worried that the idea well has dried up. I am worried that…well, honestly, I am just so wonderfully proficient at worrying, it could be anything. I’m practically a professional.
Appreciate your candor and your honesty and your staunch refusal to romanticize writing here. I have a theory, and am curious if you agree: It’s that we writers are writers precisely BECAUSE we FEEL so deeply that we are compelled to honor and dignify those holy and heavy feelings with all the proper dissection they deserve. We work hard to untangle them, to think them through, because they FEEL too important NOT to explore (like you said: turning over the rocks).
The problem, of course, is that we also feel ennui better than most. And we probably–regularly–confuse that listlessness for other things. Like this: that maybe it means our FEELING capacity itself is somehow broken.
Which means we won’t be able to write.
Which means we won’t be able to think.
Which means we won’t ever know ourselves…
Am I making any sense at all??
Again: at the risk of being redundant, I so appreciate your vulnerability and this post! 🙂
I’m not sure what it says about me that every single word of your comment makes perfect sense. yes!
We’re 10 days away from a cross-continental move, so these words resonate deeply. I’ve been thinking about where we are in our transition timeline, and it feels like an In Between space, and this is uncomfortable for me, not because of fear but because I simply don’t know what to do with the time. So thanks for your words to live in the awkwardness of it and to just live within the margins I have. I needed to hear this. That poem spoke to me, too, beautiful words.
Hi Emily! I have not yet declared that “I am a writer”, perhaps because I come to this blogging thing as one who is older and unsure of how to navigate through it. I am not “technically savvy”, and yet I want to overcome that hurdle that keeps me from moving forward. But I am so inspired by your amazing gift of sharing your honest heart. And I find strength, hope and courage to maybe declare that I might possibly be a “writer” someday, if I can just get over my fears and just begin to put the pen to paper, or iPhone, iPad, or computer and just see where it goes.
So having said that, I hope I hear back from you.
I have your books, “Grace for the Good Girl”, and read so many things that resonated with my own story, to some degree. I also have “A Million Little Ways”. And this is my very first attempt to post a comment to a blog. But I do look forward to hearing what treasures God puts in your heart to share with such clarity, and honesty. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! May God continue to bless you and your writings. Fog and all!!☺️
Well Jo, I hope your “someday” turns in to today. To be a writer, you just have to write. And look at you, leaving your first comment! Well done, you. And thanks for your kind words.
I love that you’re a reluctant writer somedays! Yet, you have blogs and books as proof that indeed you overcome the procrastination.
Thanks for sharing your vulnerable places! So encouraging.
Reading Simply Tuesday, learning and loving it!
Cory-Lynn
Oh yes, I needed this today. Thank you, Emily!
YES. YES. AND YES. You nailed it. I have been home now sitting in front of my computer for 1 hour. I have evened out the pan of brownies. Twice. Ordered a vacuum from Amazon, texted my mother, found a recipe for dinner, gotten sucked into Pinterest and read your post. When I have the margin to write and be free with my creativity, I seem to dance all around it, and only when I see the window closing do I pounce and furiously get my words on paper. Thanks for letting me know I’m in good company.
:)Abby
Oh, do I relate to this! I am a writer too; I declared that out loud a few months ago on my blog. I had no idea how uncomfortable I would be with the process of excavating my mind and soul, looking for what God was birthing! It is very hard to sit with the empty page in the empty room and turn over the rock.
Thanks for sharing your struggle. I am reading Simply Tuesday and am looking for the exhale that comes with finding His Kingdom one inch above ground and allowing myself to maintain wide margins that do not include performance.
Gosh…I just feel like you have the address to my soul….the questioning….and seeking parts…the restlessness and full parts and everything in between. You words are such a gift to so many….thank-you for using your God given talents for His Kingdom which is a huge encouragement to this heart.
WOW!
I am for sure in a “transitional” time!
I didn’t realize how in the blink of an eye, I’d been thrust into a vacant burrow… also known as an Empty Nest.
When she turned two, divorce caused our family unit to became….She and I… Momma and Daughter… A sweet and loving bond forever!
The college drop off had to have been one of the most difficult experiences… and I can’t really explain why? I’m so proud of her and know that she is EXACTLY where she is supposed to be… That God has a GREAT plan for her!
So… I also have hesitation of turning over those rocks!
Yes, yes, and more yes!
“I long for the time to write when the family is home and then avoid it when the house is empty.”
Thank you for all this validation! 😊 I don’t feel so lonely now. ❤️
I didn’t keep my margins clear or my space open when I reached my goals. I am not even sure I took time to exhale before plunging into the next adventure. I am curious – how to you find or connect with a spiritual director?
Connie
“I see shapes in the distant fog” – I love that. I also love it when those shapes emerge more clearly in my own life. Sometimes I think our thoughts need to marinate so that they can percolate. Good luck shape finding!
Yes, most definitely yes. Thank you for putting it into words, and for reminding me that I’m not the only one. Blessings Emily.
Ann
I know you’re a writer, not an artist; but thought this might inspire. http://taraleaver.com/2015/10/12-things-to-do-with-a-blank-canvas/
I meant, not a painter, you’re definitely an artist.
“Many things I have been looking toward are now past and I am living in the exhale…..It’s easier to fill a space then it is to keep it empty.”
These two sentences really spoke to me as I read this last night. So much so that I scurried to grab paper and write them down. I have been in a season of “waiting” that is full of margin, something I’m not used to yet. I’m struggling with this new normal after seasons of busyness and leadership roles. I think I forgot how to breathe and just follow my passions, but God is giving me this time to do that I believe. I can’t see ahead through the fog, and it causes me to doubt and worry, but I know its all part of God’s plan for me. Your post was a great reminder of this as I dealt with feelings of restlessness and feeling “lost in limbo” lately.
Thank you for sharing your heart and your words.
Thank you for this! My husband and I are in a season of transition and are both wondering what’s next. This post, and particularly the inclusion of the quote from John O’Donohue, really resonated with me. I shared it with my husband as well. We are in that spot of having our roots freed from the past and ready to be replanted – or rather, we may be replanted already and are just waiting for the new growth to start!
thank you!
This is beautiful, Emily. Sometimes I think God must have overlapped our hearts when He created us! Thank you for sharing John O’Donohue’s poem too – it’s so, so perfect, especially “…that you might come free from all you have outgrown.”
I literally just passed you in the hallway of the hotel. Please be grateful I read this after said encounter because had it been before … I may have hugged you and insisted on a coffee and a conversation! LOL!
You see this is where I have been for far too long wondering “what in the world” is going on. Footing seems hard to manage because the ground seems to keep shifting. I can’t see where I am going and I can’t stay where I am. Then these words you shared from John O’Donohue “Do not allow your confusion to squander.
This call which is loosening your roots in false ground, that you might come free from all you have outgrown.” Could this be it?! Got something to ponder and pray on. Thank you for this.
It’s like I have so many rocks that I’ve turned over, picked up and held in my hands, but haven’t tried to do anything more.
I feel like I’m teetering between inaction and overwhelm.
This gives me air.
Thank you.
Well this was hopeful! Thank you for sharing genuine words because most of us love writing and until someone declares us a “writer” it’s easy to feel inadequate! But I have just survived the first year with our baby #5 whose name is Tillerman, meaning “last man on the boat” and I have so many words stored up I couldn’t wait to jump back in to sharing with my small squad of people! I agree with the truth that sometimes… We fear the blank page. I’m finding that listening is always better than list making. That is when God gives me words. Appreciate the help and my Sis Amanda admires your heart as well! Glad I finally came over 😉
Also… The last man on the boat has taught me so much about time/space/later- in -life parenting, that the choppy waters we floated together as a family could fill some serious pages!
Hi Emily,
Just peeking in. Thanks for letting me listen. 🙂
Jennifer Dougan
http://www.jenniferdougan.com
Oh yes, soooo easy to fill the space rather than keep it empty! I’m finding myself spending more time worrying about what’s next rather than allowing myself the space to breathe. I know I need to find my bench.
Anyone have thought s on the line of O’Donoghou’s:
“Do not allow your confusion to squander?”
Sitting with that paradox…