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Jen Pollock Michel

( author + writer + speaker )

Filtering by Tag: story

Why I'm blogging

I've wondered if it simply meant that I loved the sound of my own voice. Blogging, that is. What could come of this tightrope walk of self-disclosure, except public clumsiness and the terror of falling? But good things are borne out of struggle and the fierce fight to claw your way out of confusion. Crisis is a prelude to creativity.

We argued. As summer drew to a close, Ryan and I circled the block one sunny afternoon, the twins ahead on their big wheels, the bigger ones at home out of earshot of Mom and Dad's wrangling. I was raging mad, bent on blaming him for all the thrashing inside of me. I blamed him for being a man and for having all the choices. I, on the other hand, gloomily forecasted more laundry and groceries and dishes in my future. Dead ends. All of them.

What had erupted in an email to a friend (I droned on about mounting resentments) and then in this explosive conversation with Ryan became for me a kind of blinking yellow light. Caution. Something's stirring in you. Pay attention.

Often, anger for me is a kind of mask, a top layer. It's my go-to emotion, my emotional default mode. But when I peel anger back, it's there, in the raw places, that I discover sadness, fear and disappointments.

And underneath all that volcanic seething, mysteriously, I can even unearth desire. Fragile. Vulnerable. Sapling hopes and dreams, waiting for me to scoop them up and pay them some attention.

Sometimes it's the desires that make us ache most.

And often, it's the desires that propel us forward.

I wasn't really angry at Ryan, but work needed to be done. A closer look was in order. What was it that I really wanted? And why did I feel so stuck? And how was God in the midst of this?

I committed to pay attention.

And I started writing, blogging for all three of my closest friends and Ryan.

There was something about creating a blog that made me feel more accountable. To the doing of it, first of all, because I, like you, am chronically lazy. But also to a more precise kind of writing. Could I start to make some sense of this?

And once I'd begun, it was as if He revealed a thousand more reasons to continue.

Because I needed to give more of myself away.

Because words mean something.

Because attentiveness to my own life was leading me towards gratitude, and ultimately, to worship.

And because stories are sacred, and battered as we are by despair and doubt, we need reminding that He's near and He's good.