I've been gone. You might have noticed, or maybe not. It’s okay if you didn't.
There are a few different reasons why, such as a little boy, but I want to talk about one in particular. I've almost written this post a dozen times, and then decided not to, because it seemed contradictory. But it seems like the time is right. It’s been almost six months.
I decided to stop blogging because it was (and still is) unhealthy for me and my relationships.
I became more concerned with taking a good enough picture of Jude than in enjoying Jude himself. I cared too much about how many people read or commented or liked what I had to say, and was crushed if it wasn't enough. And worst of all, I was reading other people’s blogs, and finding ten thousand reasons why my life, myself, and my son weren't good enough as everyone else’s. I was even pushing Jude towards milestones he wasn't ready for because of reading about a friend’s child who is Jude’s age and who hit a few milestones before he did.
What the hell.
It had to stop.
So, I stopped it. I left. Mine, and everyone else’s.
I think I stopped myself from explaining why those other times because my explanations always came out angrily, pointing fingers at the world, at the internet and the blogosphere, explaining why everyone should stop blogging because it is selfish and unhealthy. And it is. To me. But not to everyone. Like most good things, it can be used for our good or our detriment, depending on ourselves. And I, I must admit, am the far, far weaker brother in this story. Paul was talking about me.
A friend recently shared this post about how our culture is obsessed with a false idea of adventure, and how we must go and do in order to achieve and live a “full life.” That’s why I stopped blogging – because I was far more interested in creating a perception of adventure, and convincing everyone else that my life was an adventure that I wasn't really engaging the real adventure of my son and my family.
I may be back. I may not. We’ll see.
So, reader, pray for me. Pray for my weak heart that longs for the more, the not yet, and that will never ever find that here on a silly, silly blog. The real more is the daily, the mundane, the things that aren't worth writing about, and you don’t even realize until they've piled up a thousand tiny small ones into one really big beautiful thing called real life.
Bonhoeffer said, “I'm still discovering, right up to this moment, that it is only by living completely in this world that one learns to have faith. I mean living unreservedly in life's duties, problems, successes and failures, experiences and perplexities. In so doing, we throw ourselves completely into the arms of God.”
I hope that’s what I’m learning, too, by living in the world that doesn't include the blogosphere. I am learning peace and contentment, and the presence of the Lord.
My son turns a year old in a week and a half. My husband is almost done with medical school. I am struggling to discern if writing is at all a part of this season of my life.
And God is with us. That is the real more. Let’s cling to that truth, together.
Until next time, dear reader.