That’s me, above. The Brett Favre of blogging. You knew I’d never really retire, right?
Last night I uncovered the truth about why I wanted to close up shop.
I had been telling myself this:
It’s time to stop. The experiment is done. We’ve proven that women of different faiths and demographics can love each other well. We’ve truly learned from each other. We’ve proven that if you want peace, it’s much simpler to put down your guns than to fight for it. We’ve proven that the truth really does set people free. G, Time to quit while we’re all ahead.
But what I was really saying, down deep about a thousand layers, was this:
It’s time to stop. Because I’m really, really scared that I’m going to start sucking and they’re not going to like me anymore.
So I spent yesterday thinking about what that was all about. Here’s the thing about when I spend the day thinking. That’s really all I do. I am absolutely incapable of multi-tasking. And my kids know this. For example, yesterday the kids were in the pool and I guess I was looking at them, but not really. And at one point I realized that Tish was staring at me and seemed to be repeating some sort of request because her lips were moving and her voice was getting louder and louder, but by the time I actually tuned in, I heard Chase saying, “Tish, I’ll watch you jump in. Mommy can’t. She’s thinking.” True story.
I was thinking really hard about what I’m so scared of.
And I decided my real fear is that you are going to realize that I am a big, huge fraud.
Because I get up every morning and write about patience and kindness and then by noon I’ve yelled at six people, slammed three doors, and thought forty vicious thoughts.
I write about treasuring my children, about truly noticing them, about living in the moment with them, and then I spend the bulk of my day telling them to HOLD ON! while I finish whatever book I’m rereading.
I get up in the morning and write a lovely essay about following my heart and refusing to consider if others like me or not, and then I check the blog every twelve minutes, to see if you guys liked my essay or not.
I write an essay about humility. Then I hit “publish” and think…that has got to be the best essay on humility in the history of the world.
I write to you about my husband, about how in love with him I am, and then I don’t do the simple, teeny things that I know make him happy.
I write about loving poor people, about getting out there and really loving poor people. But I write about that from my cozy dining room at five in the morning. I continue to be the only poor person in my dining room.
I write passionately about a certain subject one week, and then the next week I wake up and realize that I feel completely differently about that subject now. I decide maybe I should think for a whole year before I write anything down. But that would make for a very slow blog.
And the other night I was straight-up panicking, listing to Craig all of the reasons I was freaking out about some recent decisions we’d made, and after asking me if I needed a paper bag to breathe into, Craig said, “Hon, didn’t you just write about how much peace we have about our decisions? Didn’t you just say we were free as birds? You don’t look like a bird right now.”
I plan to start speaking to him again tomorrow.
And so all of these things make me feel very nervous about this blog, because based on your emails and comments it seems like some of you guys are actually paying close attention to the things I write. And so I was thinking maybe someone who is a little less hypocritical and more consistent should be writing to you. Someone who has a few things figured out.
But then, last night, I got this breathtakingly beautiful email from a woman who was in my freshman English class. Her email was about how one particular day she begged God for guidance about a life decision, and then she told Him that she’d look to Momastery to hear back from Him. And when she logged on that day, she got a direct answer from the post. And she acted on that answer. And she’s happy now.
And so I laid in bed last night and thought . . . Hmmmm.
The Bible’s always saying how God likes to choose foolish people to show up for Him. So maybe that’s what’s going on here. Maybe he just needs a foolish body to keep showing up, and He’ll keep doing the rest.
So that’s what I’m going to do. I can be God’s fool. That’s actually ALL I can promise to be. So I’ll just keep showing up here, when I can, and ask Him to do His thing. And so if I start sucking, we know who to blame, right? Let us be clear on that.
I’ve got some ideas about how to make Momastery more sustainable, I’ll share them soon.
GF (God’s Fool)
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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