I haven't done so well with blogging regularly, but I'm inspired to do better. It was a crazy school year and an even crazier spring, so I welcome summer with open arms. I've had lots of adventures and tried several new things, so I'll have to post about some of them eventually. But for now, I'll just focus on the present.
It's been a busy week for the first official week of summer break. I had a job interview for a summer tutoring position, went to dinner at an amazing family's home, attended a thought-provoking book club meeting, and met a wonderful friend for coffee. I've had so many opportunities for communication and re-evaluation of the school year that I can't help but be reflective. Every single one of these events has been a reminder (in some way or another) of my need to write in order to deepen my understanding of the world around me.
People often tell me that I need to write about (fill in the blank), but I never really follow that advice. I'll be the first one to admit, though, that I process things through writing. I spent my undergraduate years researching literature and never fully understanding works until I wrote my own literary criticism. I spend countless hours overanalyzing EVERYTHING, but I know deep down that writing about my life is the key to turning daily activities into positive growth experiences. I'm so resistant to this idea because writing is work; it requires my soul, my intellect, and my focus. It requires parts of me that I don't like to give unless I have to. But it calls to me, as it has lately. It's been a jumble of Flannery O'Connor, an insightful mom with a blog that turned into a book, and one of the most talented teacher friends I've known, but the message is clear. I need to write if I ever want to fundamentally understand the profound experiences I've had in my life.
The trick is to remember that our everyday, humdrum life activities are the ones that turn into the profound. They are the things that shape my life. Sure, big things happen, and they change me too, but isn't it the day-to-day that truly reveals who I am inside? Flannery O'Connor is a master at analyzing how God reaches us through unexpected events. This week, I analyzed her work again, over a decade after receiving a Bachelor's degree in English. I loved her in the past, but I think much of her poignancy was lost on me as a twentysomething. In her short stories, we see God smack people in the face (often literally) to change their lives. As we discussed two of these stories in the book club, I was struck with something I'd never fully, internally grasped from O'Connor: God uses whatever means he can to wake us, and it's often violent.
Life is often violent.
It's hard. People use us, manipulate us, accuse us of sins we have not committed. It's painful and embarrassing, and it often comes from the people we trust the most. But the cross was rough; it was ugly, harsh, and cruel. I pray to be like Jesus but don't understand when life is so "hard". I'm not comparing my life to Calvary, and I'm not saying that I've experienced real horrors, but pain is relative and subject to the feelings of the bearer. In "The Temple of the Holy Ghost", O'Connor shares this great imagery of a proud little girl feeling a nun's rough wooden crucifix "mashing the side of her face" in the exact time that the girl has a real, true acknowledgement of God's inescapable presence. It's not simply physical violence, either; O'Connor uses the literal roughness to represent the figurative harshness of following Christ. When I'm honest, I acknowledge that I feel entitled to a happy life, an easy job, and the love of everyone who knows me. But somewhere inside, I know that's not what it really is to follow Christ. Even when we aren't facing the lions' den, genocide, or occupied Japan, following Christ is hard but it compels us at every turn.
So, where does writing figure into this rabbit trail? I think Christ compels me to write. He compels me to break down my experiences and use them to focus on Him in the midst of a crazy world. It's taken me this long to realize that my need for writing is more than just a temperamental, right-brained outlet. It's the power of Christ smacking me in the face through the difficult things I've experienced. I've just never taken the time to work through the surreal work encounters and the inexplicable people I've met. I'm in a transitional phase of my life; I live in a new city, am considering a new career, and am more "alone" than I've been in years. This is the perfect time to deconstruct all the experiences that I've never been able to make sense of. It might be hard and it might be painful, but it's worth it. It's exactly what Jesus always said it would be.
It's been a busy week for the first official week of summer break. I had a job interview for a summer tutoring position, went to dinner at an amazing family's home, attended a thought-provoking book club meeting, and met a wonderful friend for coffee. I've had so many opportunities for communication and re-evaluation of the school year that I can't help but be reflective. Every single one of these events has been a reminder (in some way or another) of my need to write in order to deepen my understanding of the world around me.
People often tell me that I need to write about (fill in the blank), but I never really follow that advice. I'll be the first one to admit, though, that I process things through writing. I spent my undergraduate years researching literature and never fully understanding works until I wrote my own literary criticism. I spend countless hours overanalyzing EVERYTHING, but I know deep down that writing about my life is the key to turning daily activities into positive growth experiences. I'm so resistant to this idea because writing is work; it requires my soul, my intellect, and my focus. It requires parts of me that I don't like to give unless I have to. But it calls to me, as it has lately. It's been a jumble of Flannery O'Connor, an insightful mom with a blog that turned into a book, and one of the most talented teacher friends I've known, but the message is clear. I need to write if I ever want to fundamentally understand the profound experiences I've had in my life.
The trick is to remember that our everyday, humdrum life activities are the ones that turn into the profound. They are the things that shape my life. Sure, big things happen, and they change me too, but isn't it the day-to-day that truly reveals who I am inside? Flannery O'Connor is a master at analyzing how God reaches us through unexpected events. This week, I analyzed her work again, over a decade after receiving a Bachelor's degree in English. I loved her in the past, but I think much of her poignancy was lost on me as a twentysomething. In her short stories, we see God smack people in the face (often literally) to change their lives. As we discussed two of these stories in the book club, I was struck with something I'd never fully, internally grasped from O'Connor: God uses whatever means he can to wake us, and it's often violent.
Life is often violent.
It's hard. People use us, manipulate us, accuse us of sins we have not committed. It's painful and embarrassing, and it often comes from the people we trust the most. But the cross was rough; it was ugly, harsh, and cruel. I pray to be like Jesus but don't understand when life is so "hard". I'm not comparing my life to Calvary, and I'm not saying that I've experienced real horrors, but pain is relative and subject to the feelings of the bearer. In "The Temple of the Holy Ghost", O'Connor shares this great imagery of a proud little girl feeling a nun's rough wooden crucifix "mashing the side of her face" in the exact time that the girl has a real, true acknowledgement of God's inescapable presence. It's not simply physical violence, either; O'Connor uses the literal roughness to represent the figurative harshness of following Christ. When I'm honest, I acknowledge that I feel entitled to a happy life, an easy job, and the love of everyone who knows me. But somewhere inside, I know that's not what it really is to follow Christ. Even when we aren't facing the lions' den, genocide, or occupied Japan, following Christ is hard but it compels us at every turn.
So, where does writing figure into this rabbit trail? I think Christ compels me to write. He compels me to break down my experiences and use them to focus on Him in the midst of a crazy world. It's taken me this long to realize that my need for writing is more than just a temperamental, right-brained outlet. It's the power of Christ smacking me in the face through the difficult things I've experienced. I've just never taken the time to work through the surreal work encounters and the inexplicable people I've met. I'm in a transitional phase of my life; I live in a new city, am considering a new career, and am more "alone" than I've been in years. This is the perfect time to deconstruct all the experiences that I've never been able to make sense of. It might be hard and it might be painful, but it's worth it. It's exactly what Jesus always said it would be.
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