If you’re a regular reader of my blog, it’ll come as no surprise that I had pretty high expectations for what I’d accomplish during my two weeks off for the holidays. Well, here we are on the last day of week two, and I’m just finishing my first day of writing…well, of working on a writing project.
I’d promised myself that this week after Christmas would be a time of focused writing, not knowing that it would be a time of Sudafed, Kleenex, and medicinal TV-watching.
Now, I am plowing through my 366 blog posts from last year prayerfully pondering the journey God led me on over those 12 months and how that raw material can be turned into something larger, something impactful. Some of the posts seem almost foreign to me, the thoughts shared superficial and fleeting and the substance of the days themselves forgotten. Other posts bring a burning to the back of my throat and sharp salty stinging to the corners of my eyes. I choke them down and copy those posts into the appropriate category for reading, reflecting, for feeling, another day.
Yet I know that the work ahead lies not in the safe categories labeled miscellaneous or on writing but rather in the ones that make my stomach queasy. And that makes me want to just go and watch TV.