It seems I am re-entering the blogosphere. It’s been a little over four years since I left—after six years of blogging as a missionary, and having been off the field for two years, I came to the end of anything I had to say. That was about the same time I stopped writing in my personal journal as well. Words had started to fail me as an effective means of processing what was going on in my heart and my life; I was at a point where I had to give myself permission to just live in my life and let that be enough.
The last sixteen months have been intensely dark and difficult, but words are starting to become useful to me again. Trust me when I say that is a gift; I want to take my time unwrapping and savoring it, and I want to enjoy it for as long as it may last.
It seems the time has come to start working out this journey I’ve been on, the story I’m in. I wish this were the kind of story that would let me determine its trajectory and conclusion. The truth is, I’m pretty sure, that kind of story doesn’t really exist. Many of the authors I work with have told me that they get an idea for a story and sit down to start writing it only to quickly discover that the story is really writing itself; they are simply the vehicle, the writing arm, the bearer of the craft and skill needed for the story to translate itself from imaginative concept into words on a page.
I think that’s pretty true about my life, my living story. Ever author knows that you can only develop a story so far while it’s still in your head; at some point you won’t make any more progress until you get it out and allow it to have its own substance and form. And so, I begin this blog. It is my way of getting this living story out, figuring out its substance and form, figuring out how all the pieces relate to each other and fit together to create something much bigger than me.