I finished the book of John today (which is not actually today as in this very day but today as in when I started writing this post, which was probably a week ago now. Because I have a finishing problem. And a distraction problem. And a sick kid problem. But I digress….). I’d started reading it well before Easter. Not even the entire book, mind you--just the part at the end leading up to the crucifixion.

I’ve learned over the years to be gentle with myself in some areas, though, and reading Scripture is one of them. The Holy Spirit isn’t tethered to the dusty Bible on my nightstand, but rather, He’s alive in my heart and is with me always, whether or not I succeed in reading the Word daily. I’m not always capable of living life how I think it should be lived under ideal circumstances, but what I am capable of doing is living the actual life that’s right in front of me, for better or worse.

But I’ve gotten caught up in the proverbial blank page of my writing life since the beginning of the year, and I don’t like it. I’ve let the whitespace paralyze and intimidate me, daring me to put my best foot forward only to shoot it before I can even get started. I’ve let the desire for perfection overshadow the need for progress, sacrificing what could have been something and ending up with nothing. Mediocre will never even have the chance to become great unless it gets going and starts somewhere. Anywhere. Today.

I need to start writing consistently because that it the key to so many things. It’s the key to everything, really, because the only thing that makes a writer “a writer” is they actually WRITE. And it has further dawned on me that all the writing I do for this blog is really just practice. It’s just showing up and slapping words on a page. It’s the very definition of what Anne Lamott calls the “$#!tty Rough Draft.” It’s a start, but that could be all it is.

I’m not sure what you need from this space, if I’m honest. Certainly, there are themes in my writing, maybe even ones that resonate with you in this season of life. Perhaps you’re curious about what life is like in the city or you fancy a different perspective. Maybe you can relate to my quirks or sense of humor. I don’t know what brings you here, but I do know that I’ve gotten nervous about the delivery lately. So much of life is just showing up, it’s true, but the other part of it has to be making peace with the myriad of imperfections that come along with showing up, well, as yourself.

Sometimes it’s hard to look at my writing for what it is and not what it could be. Maybe grace is being willing to put in the hard work of reconstruction and yet still love the finished product, even if it never looks how I imagined it would, warts, hairs, quirks, wrinkles, saggy skin, dimples and all. 

Perhaps the same principle could apply to me.