If you want to know the truth, my blog had lost some of its appeal—at least to me—lately.
To sit down and write, even for a few minutes each day seemed like a chore in already busy day. Days full of writing, editing, and meetings. Meeting deadlines. Making sure corrections had gotten made. Answering emails and questions.
The joy that had once been part of the appeal was gone.
I didn’t feel like my writing had any sparkle or wit. I’d read old posts and wonder what happened to that girl.
I didn’t have any ideas.
And the ones I did have just seemed too unformed, too unfunny to write about.
I wondered if I had anything left to say. If I’d written the last meaningful thing I’d ever write. I wondered if I should simply call it quits on this blog, especially since readership has plummeted along with my ideas.
But I got to go to part of Hutchmoot this weekend.
And there, in the atmosphere someone described as being invited “to the house of a really big family to enjoy their pleasure in each other and their King,” I remembered that I’d been given a desire to write and a meager talent to do so because it pleased God to do so. That the talent wasn’t mine per se, but I was a steward. And that it was my job to use that gift to spread light into a dark world—as little as that light may be.
Ideas for future blog posts aren’t overwhelming me, but the desire to call it all quits has faded. I don’t know what shape this blog will take in the next days, weeks, or even the next year, but I do know that I’ll still be writing.
And I hope you go along on the journey with me.