I Do Not Want to Be Upgraded...

(OK, so here's the post I was intending to write on the 13th... If I'm very very clever I MIGHT actually get it published by the 14th... ^_^)

Kitty corner across the street from our apartment building, there is a church that offers a free breakfast on late-start Wednesdays for the students at the high school.  I've seen the sign, and I think it's a great idea, because even if they've already eaten at home, teenagers will inevitably be hungry again by the time they drive across town to get to school... and by offering breakfast on a late-start Wednesday, they're still leaving kids with enough time to grab a snack out of the vending machines on the way to first period as well :-)

Tuesday night, my daughter's boyfriend was apparently telling her that he wanted to stop by the church and get some food on their way to school the next morning.  Which makes sense except for the fact that... well, it's at a CHURCH.  My daughter's boyfriend is a brilliant guy and very sweet (especially to her), but he's not a Christian.  In fact, he dislikes church (for a lot of the same good reasons I hated churches and so-called Christians growing up), and pretty much refuses to go.  So, when my daughter told me (with a perplexed expression) about her boyfriend's plan for the next morning, I was both confused and intrigued.

Well, my daughter overslept, and so they didn't make it to the church breakfast thingy after all, but as he and I were waiting for her to finish getting ready, I asked him what he was thinking.  Which led to an interesting conversation about all manner of things religious, but what caught my imagination and hasn't let go of it all day was something that he told me his mom had told him about the church breakfast thing:

"'You do know that they're going to try and convert you, right?'"

Now, I don't know for sure if this church is one of those that feels the urge to convert everyone who walks through their doors, or if this is one of those seeker-friendly places that encourages every visitor to "find their own path to enlightenment."  But what his mom told him to watch out for (boy, it gets complicated trying to write without using names ^_^) just kind of resonated with me, because isn't that exactly what we as Christians do sometimes?  We get in the mindset that it's our job to "convert" people to Christianity, and that if we try to "share the gospel" with them and they DON'T get saved, then we've either not tried hard enough, or else we've done something wrong, or else they're just unrepentant sinners who are destined for hellfire and there's nothing we can do but simply wash our hands of them.

As I've mentioned before, I didn't grow up in a Christian home.  My mom told me as I was growing up that, because we have some Jewish blood in our grandmother's lineage, we were part of "God's Chosen People" and, therefore, we were automatically going to Heaven to be with God no matter what we did.  God simply gave us His commandments to tell us what to do and what not to do, and then He sent Jesus as a living example of how we were all supposed to live our lives.

This confused me.  On the one hand, God gave us a bunch of rules and filled in the gaps with some pretty scary consequences if we didn't obey (try reading through Exodus and Leviticus as a precocious 7 year old sometime... o.O).  On the other hand, it really doesn't matter whether we obey the rules or not, because if we're lucky enough to be Jewish, we're all going to go to Heaven anyway...?  By the time I was 10 or so, I figured that there really was no God, because either He was powerless ("Hah!  I broke all Your puny little commandments but You STILL have to let me in because I'm JEWWWWW-ISHHHHHHH!  Nyah, nyah, nyaaaaaahhhh!"), or else He must hate everybody and delight in torturing them ("You thought about stealing a pencil once because it was purple and sparkly, and since to think of breaking a commandment is the same as committing it in your heart, you are hereby sentenced to BUUUUUUUURRRRRNNNN... Thus saith the LORD!").  On top of that, I just didn't see how it would be fair to have an afterlife (i.e. Heaven) where EVERYBODY would get in no matter what they did or who they had a feud with on earth (I mean, my mom's parents were divorced... logically, then, how on earth could it be Heaven for either one of them if they were BOTH there?)  By the time I started junior high, I was one confused and, frankly, ticked off young lady-- all these years, and everyone who kept inviting me to church and Awanas and Neighborhood Bible Club had been LYING to me?

Because I used to get invited to a LOT of Christian events by well-meaning people at school and in my neighborhood.  And this is where the comment about being "converted" really hit home for me:  Every time I would get invited to a church or a Bible club, it was always the same bait-and-switch technique:

"Hey there, little girl... Do you like cookies?  Would you like to come over and have some cookies and milk after school.  We'll have a story, and some songs, and if you want, you can even play some musical instruments.  There will be other kids there... We'd LOVE it if you came!"

"Um... OK.  I like cookies, I guess..."

**arrives at house at right time, knocks on door timidly**

"Oooooooh, you CAME!  Hey everyone, look who's here with us today!  It's that one little girl from down the street!  You know, the one with the greasy hair and dirty clothes and holey shoes who OBVIOUSLY COMES FROM A PAGAN AND UNBELIEVING HOME..."  (OK, so no one ever actually said that last part out loud in front of me, but 1) it was always there in the pitying gazes of the adults in the room and in the snickers and haughty looks of the other kids, and 2) as an adult, I've heard those words come from the mouths of other church workers in reference to some of the kids we've had at VBS and Bible Clubs.)

"Um... Hi?"

"Oh, sweetie, we're so glad you're here!  Come on in and have a cookie..."

**comes in and stuffs face with cookie, completely oblivious to the quiet locking of the door behind her and the ominous music that really should be playing under a scene such as this...**

"Now, let's see... Where were we...?  Oh, yesssss... DO YOU KNOW FOR SURE IF YOU DIED TODAY THAT YOU WOULD GO TO HEAVEN???  WOULD YOU RATHER GO TO HELL???  OH NO, YOU WOULDN'T, WOULD YOU???  IF YOU ASK JESUS TO COME IN AND LIVE IN YOUR HEART RIGHT HERE, RIGHT NOW, TODAY, THEN YOU WILL GO TO HEAVEN TO BE WITH GOD FOREVER AND NOT ONLY THAT, BUT YOU WILL NEVER BE SAD OR LONELY AGAIN BECAUSE YOU WILL BE FILLED WITH THE HOLY GHOST AND JESUS PROMISES HE WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU OR FORSAKE YOU AND SO YOU WILL ALWAYS HAVE A FRIEND IN JESUS WHO WILL LIVE IN YOUR HEART FOREVER IF YOU JUST SAY THIS SIMPLE PRAYER WITH ME... Wouldn't you like that, little girl (whose name I can't remember right now)?  Wouldn't you like to go to Heaven and be with Jesus and God and be in-right out-right upright downright happy all the time?"

Um... WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO SAY TO THAT WHEN I'M SITTING THERE WITH MY MOUTH FULL OF COOKIE AND A LOCKED DOOR BETWEEN ME AND THE OUTSIDE WORLD???

So, of course, I do what we all would do... I nod my head and, after swallowing the wad of cookie-mush that's now lodged in my throat, I dutifully echo whatever words of whatever prayer the nice Bible teacher wants me to say (most of which makes little to no sense whatsoever... but hey, now I've got a bearded dude in a white robe living in my left ventricle and some creepy ghosty-thing living in my right, and all of my synapses have been washed away with a whole lotta sheep's blood so as soon as I step outside, nothing bad will be able to touch me because I've got a nice leafy hedge to protect me, so it's all good, right?)  And then everybody sings a happy song, and everyone congratulates me on becoming a Christian-- while making sure not to touch me or get too close because, hey, I'm still wearing the same dirty clothes and holey shoes and greasy hair that I came in with.  And then they show me to the door and off I go, waltzing happily right back into the same messy world that I woke up in that morning.  And the next day, life is just as miserable as it was before I "asked Jesus into my heart" and "became a believer", and I'm left going, "Um... What's going on?  Where's my fabulous new life and all the riches of being a child of God?"

So the next week, I go back and start asking questions.  And what I'm told is that, in order to KEEP the blessings of God, I have to start making changes in my life.  I need to stop watching bad TV shows.  I need to stop listening to the devil's music.  I need to start dressing like a good Christian and not like the world, and most of all, I need to stop cussing, start going to church every Sunday, and get to work sharing the good news of Jesus with all of my friends and/or invite them to Bible Club too.  Never mind that 1) I don't have any control over the TV set or what we watch on it, 2) All of the "Christian" kids' music out there is boring and repetitive and seems to be written by aliens from the planet HappyHappy, 3) I have no money to go out and buy the clothes that all the "Christian" kids at school are wearing, 4) my mom works Sundays and so I have no way to get to church... besides, that, we're JEWISH, if you remember, and 5) at this time, I had no friends at school to share the "good news" with, much less any who would willingly go anywhere after school with me.

"So," I would finally ask, "What you're telling me is that God loves me, but now He wants to change everything about me?"

"Oh, yes... He loves you right where you're at, but He loves you too much to leave you that way."  (Worst mis-use of the truth of God EVER, right there, IMHO... :-/ )

"So... Why would God want me to be His kid if He doesn't even LIKE me?"

"Oh, sweetie... Um... Uh... Well, of COURSE God LOVES you...!"

"But does He LIKE me?"

"Well..."

"Do YOU even LIKE me?"  (I was a pretty messed up kid with a pretty big reputation for getting into arguments and cussing people out, even the teachers.  I was a hard person to like... I didn't even like me, so I totally understood why nobody else did either...)

"Well... Of COURSE we like you..."

"Really?  What's my name, then?"

"Your what?"

"My name.  Do you even remember my name?"

They usually didn't.  I usually didn't go back.

I got older and became your stereotypical Goth teenager; I hated everything, made everyone miserable, did everything I could to tick everyone off just to see what would happen.  Sophomore year, I tried to flunk out of Spanish class after scoring 2nd in state on the National Spanish Exam and then threatened to kill myself... just to see which one would get the bigger rise out of my mom.  Junior year, I wrote an essay about terrorizing the school counselor with tales of dismemberment and nearly got suspended.  Senior year, I tried to set up a "satanic ritual" at the lunch table using black plastic garbage bags, some table sugar, and a glow-in-the-dark skull candle; I also nearly got arrested for threatening a police officer with a knife because I was mouthing off to him while chopping up potatoes for dinner (now, WHY there was a police officer in my house while I was making dinner, that's a WHOLE other story altogether...)

And of course, for every crazy thing I did to try and prove that I really was a bad seed (one of the terms a VBS leader had used to describe me when I was 7 and throwing a mega-tantrum in her church), there was at least one well-meaning soul at my high school each year trying to convert me.  Why they wanted to convert me, I had no idea...  These people certainly didn't LIKE me, and they NEVER bothered to actually get to KNOW me before trying to "fix" me.  Maybe it was the idea that because I was so bad, I would make a more beautiful trophy on their spiritual wall, perhaps?  I don't know.  All I know was that it was always the same rigamarole, over and over again...

"Do you know for sure if you died today that you would go to Heaven?"
"I don't believe in your 'Heaven'."
"Oh, well then... I guess that means you're going to Hell, then."
"I don't believe in your 'Hell', either."
"Oh... Well, don't you believe in God?"
"Nope."
"But... Certainly you MUST believe in SOMETHING???"
"Nope... Not really.  Life sucks and then we die."
"But... but... Jesus, and... God, and the Holy Spirit, and... FOR GOD SO LOVED THE WORLD THAT HE GAVE HIS ONLY BEGOTTEN SON THAT WHOSOEVER BELIEVETH IN HIM SHALL NOT PERISH BUT SHALL HAVE EVERLASTING LIFE!  If you pray and ask Jesus into your heart then..."
"Been there, done that.  Didn't work."
"Oh.  Well, then, I guess you're going to hell, then.  Have a nice life anyway!"  And then they would scurry away, off to find one of their fellow "believers" to commiserate with about how the world was going to hell in a handbasket and how "that one girl" with the skull candle and all the chains was boldly leading the way.

And if I could have told them one thing, it would have been this: If your God is so small that He can't handle one scared, confused little girl wrapping herself in chains to defend herself, then your God is not one that I would want to serve anyway.

For those of you who still don't get why a non-Christian would ever turn down the chance to be "led to the Lord" in such a way, let me share with you what I've found to be the best pop-culture analogy to hit-and-run evangelism EVER...

(If the video above won't play, the entire Doctor Who episode I'm referencing is Series 2, Episode 5, "Rise of the Cybermen", and is available on Netflix and elsewhere; the specific scene takes place at about 37 minutes or so into the episode.)

Now, I am not trying to condemn Christian evangelism.  I'm not criticizing Christian missions in general, and I'm not saying that Christians should just give up and leave everyone else alone.  I'm sure that there are some of you reading this who think I'm attacking you, because you recognize some of the things I've quoted as coming from your own flyers and handouts.  My aim is not to attack anybody personally.

My aim is to make a point.

Non-Christians do not want to be converted. We do not wish to be "upgraded" against our wills.

We want to be loved.  We want to be respected.  We want to be treated as human beings, with names and stories, minds and souls.

Because here's the thing: If God actually is who you say He is, then He is big enough to handle all of the scared little kids out there who lash out at a cold and punishing world.  If your God is real, then He chose to create each and every person on this earth... every person who ever lived, who lives now, and who ever will live.  Each unique combination of sperm and egg, with its specific genetic code and one-of-a-kind life story... Your God knows each one, He chose each one, He placed each on in his or her specific time, place, and family... and He knows each and every one of the struggles that they will go through in their life before even one of their days comes to pass (Psalm 139).  If you're reading this and you're not a Christian, I'm not saying this to convince you to become one.  That's not my job.  I'm saying this because what I have seen and what I have lived through has convinced me that it is true.

All those years, all those people who only wanted to convert me so that they could add another tally mark to their weekly list of souls, all those people who gave up on me and told me I was going to go to hell...

They were wrong.

Because when I was 20, I encountered a God who actually knows me and loves me... and not only that, He actually likes me too.  I didn't become a Christian because somebody bullied me into it or forced me to convert against my will; I am a Christian today because somebody took the time to get to know me, to see me as a human being with value and a purpose, and to love me like God loved me all along.  I was able to contemplate God as a real possibility only after someone actually did for me what they said God already had been doing all along-- looking out for me, caring what happened to me, liking me for who I was, and loving me more than I loved myself.  I've already told bits and pieces of my story elsewhere on this blog (here and here and here and here), so I'm not going to make this post any longer by retelling you all exactly how I became a Christian and why.  But I do want to finish with some advice from someone with a foot in both camps:

To the Christians out there reading this:  Stop trying to upgrade every "unbeliever" you meet in your own image.  Start actually seeing us as people first instead of candidates for conversion or potential tally marks on your spiritual scorecard.  Because honestly, this is what your hit and run, win-'em-at-the-door evangelism style looks like to us.  If you're wondering why people don't want to hear your gospel, take a good look at your approach...  Do you actually like the people you're trying to save?  Would you be happy to sit next to them in church just as they are?  If they never decide to become Christians, would you still consider them your friends?  Do you know their names, their kids' names, their brothers' and sisters' names?  Do you know what makes them laugh, what makes them cry?  What their hopes for the future are and what keeps them awake at night?  If not, then you don't love them... and they will know it.  And why should we believe that your God (who supposedly knows all about us) loves us if you yourself (who don't know us from Adam) can't love us?  Finally, don't give up on us... You can't possibly know what's going to happen in 2 years, in 5 years, in 20 years, or on our deathbeds; for all you know, we may someday change our minds and decide that maybe there IS a God out there after all.  Or we may not.  God calls you to love your neighbor as yourself, not predict his or her future and bestow your affections accordingly.

To the non-Christians out there reading this:  Please don't judge all Christians by the actions of some.  Not every Christian you meet is out to grind you up and turn you into a Cyber-Believer.  You don't like it when we judge and condemn you without actually knowing anything about you; please don't do that to us either.  Be honest with us about what you do believe (because everybody believes in something); be willing to share your thoughts and listen to ours in return.  Don't be as big a snot as I was, because looking back, I can now see that some of the people I thought only wanted to convert me actually did care and actually were trying to help... and all I did was brush them off and make myself even more miserable.

OK, so now that I've probably managed to tick people off on BOTH sides of the fence... Any thoughts to share?

My Top 9 Obstacles to Writing and/or Finishing a Blog Post

OK, so I originally sat down to write a post inspired by a conversation I had this morning with my daughter's boyfriend, but instead... Here are the Top 9 Things That Always Seem to Get in the Way of Me Writing the Blog Posts I INTEND to Write... 

9. Being sick... again...   Yep, I'm wrapping up Day #4 of my annual holiday season head/chest cold nastiness.  It hurts to breathe, because my lungs itch and I feel like I need to cough.  But it hurts to cough, so I try not to, especially since when I'm coughing, I'm not breathing, and that's kind of a negative in my book.  And then there's the added bonus of the headache, fever, chills, and nasal nastiness to keep me company...  And if I'm really, really, REALLY lucky, one or more of my kids will catch it and then we can spend the long rainy days together watching the Princess Bride and whining about the taste of NyQuil.  And thus good times shall be had by all... o.O   The bug has struck early this year, though... so maybe I'll actually be healthy when it comes time for the holidays, for a change :-)  I can always hope, right?

8. Because the sight of Mom typing automatically means "Hey, she's not busy... Ask her anything!!!"  Why is it that, whenever I sit down to type, that's always the moment when everybody needs my undivided attention, and all of it RIGHT NOW?  "Honey, where would we have squirt guns?" "Mom, guess what?  I finally got Steve to play Pokemon Indigo on his phone at lunch today!" "Hey, Mom, the APUSH teacher says I can watch the movie "Glory" for extra credit... And has Madame posted the grades for the last French quiz online yet?" "Hey, Mom, wanna hear a joke I heard at school today?"  "Honey, are you SURE we don't still have all those empty coffee cans around here someplace?  I was keeping them to use for weeble-walkers, but now I need them for the Cub Scout meeting tonight..." "Hey, Mom... What are we having for dinner?"  "Honey... I need to boil an egg.  Do you have anything you might need hardboiled eggs for?  Because it seems silly to just boil one egg..."  "So, Mom... When are you going to fill out my permission slip for the Boy Scout camping trip this weekend?"  "Hey, Honey... How do I know if this egg from the fridge is hard-boiled or not?  Because isn't it supposed to be kind of sloshy if it's not hard boiled?  And I can't get this one to slosh..."  Seriously... and all of these are just from tonight.  And did I mention I've been sick for 4 days, and typing is about the only thing I can do without getting completely wiped out?  I think I might just lose my mind...

7. And then there's that stupid stinking timer...  We have a timer to help me keep track of dinner, and it never fails...  I'll set the timer, thinking I've got however many minutes to write (or do whatever it is I think I need to be doing right then), sit down, and juuuuuusst as I get really into the task...

BEEE DE DE DEEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEP, BEEE DE DE DEEEP...

My kids, bless their souls, tried to help me like our timer better by pointing out that it's got the same rhythm as the sound that loops in the Master's head in "The Sound of Drums"...

... but somehow, it just isn't all that reassuring o.O  (Though it DOES lend weight to my theory that ANYTHING can be turned into a Doctor Who reference... :-D )

There are also timers on the microwave, washer, and dryer, and I swear, nothing disrupts your train of thought like a sudden BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP when you're least expecting it.  Forget Britney Spears... I'm thinking that, if they really want to mentally cripple pirates in Somalia, they really just need to borrow my washer and dryer for a week ^_^

6. The care and feeding of miniature humans... What do you mean, "You're hungry???  I just fed you yesterday..."  When my youngest was a toddler, he would come out of his room every morning, looking adorable in his footie pajamas and with his hobbit-mop of red curls springing out all over the place, and he would track down me or my husband each day with the same exact pronouncement: "Mo-om (or Da-ad)... I'm hungry AGAIN...!"  To which, of course, there can only be one reasonable response: "What do you mean?  We just fed you yesterday...!"  Lest anyone think that we were mean parents, though, we did always walk with him into the kitchen and help him get his breakfast, after which he was generally content to go and play until time for snack... or, in hobbit-speak, second breakfast.  And elevensies... and lunch... and second lunch... and so on.  We don't just call him the Hobbit for no reason, you know... ^_^

Even now, though, at 10 years old, that kid STILL keeps insisting that I feed him... every single day, without fail.  And not only that, but he's got his brother and sister trained to expect the SAME THING too, now!  I mean, come on, people... What are you going to do when you go off to college and have to fend for yourselves?  Oh, wait... that's what cafeteria food is for... never mind, then ^_^

Seriously though (just in case you didn't pick up on the invisible sarcasm font of that previous paragraph ;-) )...  I have this weird aversion to cooking meals.  Every day, I dread having to make dinner... but every day, I feel like it's my obligation as a mom to provide sustenance for my family.  And for some reason, the urge to write always seems to strike me at right about 4:30 or 5-ish in the afternoon...

"Oh, hey, I've got this FABULOUS brainstorm of an idea for my next blog post!  I'd better type it out before I forget..." **typety type, clickity-click, typety type type**  "Wait, what...?  You have somewhere to be at 7 and you need dinner first?  Aw, maaaaaannnnn... OK, guess I'll come back to this later...  It's Hamburger Helper time again!"  (I have a serious love-hate relationship with Hamburger Helper...  it's actually kind of scary o.O )

In their defense, though (before anyone starts commenting that I should pass along the mealtime chore to my kids for their sake and mine...), my kids ARE actually learning how to cook for themselves... even though it sometimes results in Facebook posts like the following:

3/5 of my family members proved today that they apparently don't know how to cook macaroni properly... Which led to this conversation:

Me: "Great... Y'all better hope nothing ever happens to me, 'cause if I die, you're all gonna starve..."
Middle Child: "I know how to make noodles..."
Eldest Child: "OK, so when Mom dies, you're in charge of making the noodles for everyone, then."
Me: "Um... Because noodles are amazing...?"

5. My inability to concentrate whenever there's anything else going on in the room...  I'm just going to chalk this one up to the fact that, with autism, there's no such thing as tuning the world out and focusing on my... oh, hey, was that a squirrel or just the neighbor's cat?  And why is that door open AGAIN?  And can't you people see that there's a RIGHT way to stack the dirty dishes on the counter and a WRONG way to do it?  And that sound the fan is making... Something's wrong with it...  And how can I be expected to concentrate when the neighbors are watching WWE, anyway?

AUTISM: Any Useless Tangent Is Something to Me...

And there goes that timer... again... Here come the drums, here come the drums...?  o.O
 
4. Because there's nothing so fascinating in the world as what's on Mom's computer screen...  One of my pet peeves has always been people reading over my shoulder.  First off, it's an invasion of my personal bubble, which I'm very attached to and without which I'd go off the deep end.  Second, it feels like someone's snuck up behind me, pried open my head, and is going through my brain matter like a five year old with an Operation game... "Hey there... What 'cha reading?  Is it good?  How did you find THAT article?  What do you think about the subject?  What's that link there go to?"  This is even MORE nerve-wracking when it's not just a Facebook post or a news article that I'm looking over, but my own unfinished blog-post-to-be... the very core of what I'm thinking and feeling at that moment, naked and exposed to the open air.

Look, people... It takes me a while to synthesize what I'm reading and formulate an opinion.  It also takes me a while to find the right words to express what I'm thinking about any given topic, because I want to make sure that what goes out on the blogosphere is an accurate reflection of my actual thoughts and opinions, and not some emotionally-charged hormono-rant that I'm going to regret in the morning.  When that process of choosing words, looking them over, reconsidering, and revising is interrupted, I shut down... my brain puts everything on hold, and all I can think to do is to slam the computer shut to protect myself.  And then I never seem to be able to pick up my thoughts again... and yet another post goes into the "Draft" pile...

3. The DAemon Twins: Discouragement and Apathy...  I covered this topic in my last blog post...  Basically, it's that notion I get that I have nothing worth saying and no energy to bother saying it with.  I let these two get in my way far more often than I should... But at least by being honest and transparent about it, I can climb back on that keyboard and ride back into the battle... OK, now THAT analogy didn't work and just kept on going anyway... o.O

2. How do I tell an honest story without offending anyone or hurting their feelings?  First and foremost, I want to be honest and transparent in all I say, do, and write... For me, it's a matter of integrity.  But sometimes, life is messy, and sometimes, people are ugly.  And sometimes, being honest means exposing that ugliness and letting people see the consequences of their bad decisions.  That's a really difficult thing for me, though, because honestly, I want everyone to like me and to be happy about everything I write.  I don't like ruffling feathers or putting people on the spot publicly...  To quote one of my favorite Bible verses (I use it as my email signature as a constant reminder), as far as it depends on me, I want to live at peace with everyone (Romans 12:18)  There's also the verses about how love covers a multitude of sins (1 Peter 4:8, Proverbs 10:12 and 17:9); if I love someone, the last thing I want to do is publicly humiliate them or put them in a spotlight for others to mock or condemn.  So, for now, there are a LOT of things I would love to write about... but for the sake of love and for the purpose of keeping the peace, I won't.  Some of you who may know me well enough to know my story may wonder why I never mention some things on my blog, even though they're HUGE right now in my life; this is my reason why.

And the Number One Obstacle to Me Writing What I MEAN to Write...

1. My own high expectations...  When I was in college, I remember reading an article in which the author asked the question: Why isn't it enough anymore for us to be just good at something?  Why must we always be the best or else feel that we've failed?  It's like our culture has told us that, if we're not the best, we're worthless.  If our schools aren't #1 in the world, then we're failing.  If I didn't get the highest grade in the class, then I'm not trying hard enough.  When we think like this, we're setting ourselves up for disaster, because no matter how hard we work or how much effort we put into something, chances are there is always going to be someone somewhere in the world who can top us.  Any record we set will someday be toppled; any achievement we make will someday be matched.  So... Why aim for a target that can never be met?

When I'm faced with this realization, I tend to get discouraged and give up (hey, look, it's those DAemon twins again...).  And then I end up fulfilling the prophecy of not being good enough, because by not writing ANYTHING, I'm definitely not writing the BEST of anything, or even anything remotely near GOOD... it's just a big pile of silence and frustration.  And if God has called me to write and to give encouragement to others, then by writing nothing, I'm basically sitting in the corner sulking and refusing to obey.  And that is most definitely NOT something I want to have to fess up to...

So...

If I can't sulk and get away with it by hiding (because that wouldn't be transparent), and I can't rationalize and talk my way out of being disobedient (because that wouldn't be honest), then the only option left to me is to obey, to go forward and write, whether I think the result is worth the effort or not.  And maybe I'll learn to be OK with just doing my best and letting God do what He wants with it.  I'm such a perfectionist; I expect soooo much more out of myself than anyone else around me does.  I want every post to be brilliant, every word perfectly chosen, every conclusion the final word on the subject, and every "Aha!" moment an illumination of truth in this dark world.  And when it isn't, I wonder why I should even bother.  But then I remember that I'm not the light of the world-- Jesus is.  I'm not perfect-- but Jesus is.  I don't get to have the final word on anything-- God does.  And I don't have to be brilliant-- it's enough for me to be me and to be content with that :-)



So... To all my writer friends out there (you know who you are, and even if you didn't, you do now, because, yes, I'm talking to YOU :-P )... What are the things that keep YOU from writing?  Am I the only one who deals with this crazy stuff?  What do you do to stay motivated to write?