Blogging, I'm reminded of something E.B White (essayist and more famously, children's author) said in regard to essayists.
Sadly, I'm reminded of it, but can't quite remember it.
The idea, however, was that an essayist, or anyone who commits opinions to paper, is one of God's most audacious creatures, being so enamored of their own thoughts, they are convinced that others would like to hear them.
(It's a little bit cheeky, I guess, but, writing that, I find myself thinking that there are a whole lot more people who despise writing, but are nevertheless positively delighted and, in fact, duty bound, to give any and all their opinion on everything from John Bolton to toilet paper, and E.B. White said nothing of them. I think that perhaps his statement was his way apologizing for presumption and presenting a front of humility.)
I'm not particularly humble myself, not nearly so much as I would like to be, but then, if I were satisfied with my humility. . .
I suppose that, like White, I'm a little embarrassed.
While I'm not that humble, I'm not really brassy. And that entails pride, not wanting anyone to assume that I'm. . . .proud. Pride is the undisputed master of disguise.
So why I am embarking on this great presumption?
I love to write, plain and simple, and if I do so happen, along the way, to discover that a few others enjoy, or at least, are intrigued by my musings, then so much the better.
I think that statement should cover me in the humility department.
Now with that settled, another nagging doubt throws a flag on the line of scrimmage.
What do I write about?
That's a big one. I think I know now, with a little less gravity, how pastors and evangelists must feel when they search for God's message every week.
I'm interested, fairly informed, and most often disgusted with politics.
I'm interested, fairly ignorant, and most often enthralled with theology.
I'm the farthest thing from an expert on any subject of particular interest, that is, except my job, and even if you did want to know about construction sites and loading boxes at UPS, I absolutely refuse to tell you.
So, I'm left with a dubious alternative.
I shall write about whatever interests me at any given time.
Which brings us to the following, why is it so incredibly hard to remain at all times fascinated and excited about an ever-deepening walk with God?
At times I find myself exhilarated, heart pounding, mouth dry at the enormous, unbelievable prospect of my relationship with God Almighty, and then, so much more of the rest of the time, I notice my devotional life inspiring about the same amount of awe, and taking up about the same amount of time, as brushing my teeth.
Maybe I'm asking the wrong question.
Maybe it's: why do I need to be continually entertained with some new feeling, some discovery, some new revelation or profundity about God, or about myself, for that matter?
Isn't that suspiciously like immaturity?
To be sure, a true walk with God will reveal these things to me, but is that why I serve Him?
Am I that childish?
Is human nature that difficult to eradicate?
Or am I just lazy, waiting for God to continually carbonate my spiritual life, when I should be doing it myself?
Or is life all Coca-Cola?
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