limited

This is my third or fourth time trying to write again.

You see, I’ve been thinking too much lately, and my jaw is beginning to tense up.

Each time I try, I stare at the page and a half I’ve written, and erase the unorganized vomit of feelings and emotions I’ve attempted at putting into words. It seems they’re better at floating around in my head.

And so I erase it and stare at the blank screen in front of me, struck by the fact that I feel like I’m staring into blank white right now in real life. Waiting for the story to continue, for the words to be written; God, I just want to know what happens.

Back to the computer. I think I find symbolism too easily.

There were a few good lines I wrote, a few good things I pointed out. But it was a mess, and I don’t like posting messes. I like them clean. I like them figured out. I like some flow. I’m not a perfectionist, but when it comes to writing, I can be a little over-critical of myself.

And then I sigh and get off. I’ll try again later, I guess. Or maybe I’m done, and no good written word will ever flow from my hands ever again. Which, in my opinion, would be better than publishing a messy, muddled attempt at a blog. Those won’t do.

And I’m not sure if this will be posted yet. This is just another attempt, and I will erase this if I don’t like it. Don’t think I won’t.

Words are getting on my nerves. They aren’t coming out right, and texts are starting to annoy me. Empty promises, hopeful journal entries, and sometimes even heartfelt prayers all just seem trivial right now. Words can mean nothing, absolutely nothing. They come out wrong and screw with my mind. I over-analyze words, and I dwell on them too much. Dear Lord, I am waiting for action.

Just as our promises for a Messiah in Isaiah would have been nothing had our Messiah not come in the Gospels, I am overwhelmingly disappointed with the words that surround me when there is nothing that will be done after them. Do something, for goodness’ sake. Stop talking.

But then every once in awhile, some words just come out beautifully. A conversation that would normally be nothing grows eloquently powerful and significant. The words “I love you” abnormally carry a myriad of feelings when I say it to my close friend on her wedding day. And phone calls from faraway people that I miss. Those phone calls when the conversations grow much deeper than the initial intent, I just love those.

And so as I sit here waiting for the action behind the words, I am thankful for the act of love & sacrifice I see in the Words of Life. And I realize that life is not just about waiting for a clarifying action; clarity is never promised to us. Because my God is a God who gives beauty to ambiguity; He gives us a purpose to fulfill even though we may wait longingly. He is not a God of sitting or thumb twiddling.

And maybe, the words aren’t always supposed to come out right. Maybe it’s ok to have a messy blog every once in awhile. Maybe chaotic and real is better than tidy, puffy, condescendingly big words of proclaimed revelation. Maybe an attempt is better than a blank computer screen.

And maybe God waits for those words—the confused and unorganized ones—and those humble, desperate words are the ones He uses to finish our story from motionless phrases to powerful action.

And that’s worth a thousand imperfect blogs.