The Beginning

“I think we’re going to have to live here somehow,” Vivian said, a worried look spreading across her face. ~Fish Out of Water

I wrote the following two paragraphs over a week ago.

“It’s about time I started. This is the end of Thanksgiving break, the night before I return to college for three more weeks of the semester. It goes by fast. Anyhow, if I had more time I would have come up with a more thoughtful and potentially witty post for my first post, but alas, there is barely enough. But writers must make time to write; there are always other things making us busy.

The hardest part of doing anything in my experience (well, not anything, but generally plunges of many sorts) is the beginning. To start a homework assignment that you expect will be unpleasant is not the smoothest, except for the fear of a bad grade glaring behind you. Or the start of a story or paper, in my experience, takes the most thought, and I often erase the first sentence immediately and start over again. Starting this blog was hindered for months by thoughts such as, “I’m afraid I’ll write something stupid,” or “Eh, I don’t have time yet, I’ll do it soon,” or “What’s the point?” But one must start somewhere, even if the first products are not very stunning. (More like the opposite.)”

Wait! Did you just hear what I said in that second-to-last sentence? Where was the focus? “One must start somewhere, even if the first products are not very stunning.” If my blogging was only a continual blasting of my own thoughts, of myself–if my blogging or writing was solely a show of my self-murmurings–if this website was to broadcast me–I would much rather hide and not write at all, and not just because I’m an introvert. A focus on myself only debilitates because–and this is the truth–there isn’t much goodness going on if I look at myself.

I told a friend about my trouble finding subjects to write about in this blog, and she replied at the end of her message, “There’s always something to write about God.” I could probably write another book or twenty just because of that. If we want to live with any sturdy hope in life, or act in any way at all, including trying to write something worth reading, we cannot look at ourselves or focus on our surroundings. “Change and decay in all around I see. / O Thou who changest not, abide with me.”

This is where I stand. When I think of writing continually about God (which does not mean excluding what happens in life), it is like a canopy of many colors and beautiful places opens above me, endless things to record. There’s no end and no darkness in God.

In light of this, we have much to look forward to.