Well, I feel like I should write something. I’ve been lazy, lately. Haven’t written a word… No poems, none of my book, not even cruddy fan fictions. I really should be scared. I really should write.
I don’t waaaaannnnnnnnaaaaaa!
I can’t churn out any awe-inducing poems, write any emotionally charged scenes, can’t write a blog post about Christmas, for Durin’s sakes. I am a writer who isn’t writing. And as one of my favorite quotes says…
“A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity.”
Therefore, I need to write something.
But what to write?
I could write a long blog post about the deep meanings in the last season of Doctor Who, I could write about how making a ginger bread house with my family is an old, old tradition and it feels good to have a tradition to hold on to, I could write a poem about Christmas, and it might not even be that corny…
But there’s no magic in my fingers. No spark in my mind. No twinkle in my eye or spring in my step. My feet drag on the floor to my computer and I give it a disinterested look. No, this writer does not want to write. Not at all.
This writer says “Bah humbug!” and refuses to write a nice inspiring blog post about Christmas that you all could use.
Honestly, this writer needs to get over herself.
I need to write.
Cause that’s what I am, isn’t it? A writer?
Ah, but I think another reason why I don’t want to write is because I am scared. Scared? Yes, I’m scared.
I’m scared that whatever I write won’t be good enough, because I want to write about Christmas. (Well, we’re getting somewhere, at least I want to write now!)
Christmas? Christmas isn’t scary, is it?
When you want to write about it, it is. Yes, yes it is.
When you want everyone to know how you feel, how this one day changed your life, not just your life, but everyone ever to live has been changed by this date.
No pressure, right?
I’m scared I won’t be able to do Christmas justice.
Actually, I know I won’t be able to do it justice.
Because I can not put into words or thoughts how much Jesus loves me.
I can’t describe this all encompassing feeling of peace and love and joy. And yes, we are celebrating his birth in a little bit, but we also know that this baby who was born on this date died, oh how painfully he died, for a bunch of people who were as disgusting as the filth on the streets he walked upon.
We celebrate life, joy, and peace. But there is, at least for me, a small foreshadowing feeling. When you realize just how small you are. How unworthy of this little crying baby’s life.
Oh, but you get it anyway. You get to be clean and pure because this little baby, Jesus, Emmanuel, He was born to die.
For a bunch of low life sinners.
And no matter what we say or do, we don’t deserve that.
But He doesn’t care. He loves us. He loves the filthy humans we are and loves to forgive us.
It doesn’t end. This love, this all encompassing love does not end for us. It is new every day, it does not wane, does not fade, and it loves more than you can believe.
There is no condemnation in him. While we don’t deserve this precious gift, he gives it to us, and he does not want us to blame ourselves, or beat ourselves up. We are human. We make mistakes. We hurt and are hurt.
And this baby came to love us, and to die for us.
And that one gift changed my life. Forever.
And this is why I am not going to write a series of posts about Christmas. I only had one of these in me, only one chance to tell you about this Jesus.
Because I could write novels and novels and not even scratch the surface of how much he loves me.
How do you fit that into a blog post? This love and peace and this joy! Oh, this joy. It has made the lame walk, the blind see, the deaf hear, and the stone hearted love. This joy has carried me through this earth, and it will carry me out again.
Glory to God!