Journeys of a Wandering Wordsmith
Journey with me on my blog!
Thank You for Being Brave
I'm writing this blog from home. And I never blog from home. Like ever. I have no other choice. Nothing is open. No late-night coffee shops and no early-night coffee shops either, for that matter. Coronavirus has violently disrupted every facet of normalcy. Society's. My own. Normal Monday evenings aren't normal Monday evenings anymore. And for God only knows how much longer.
Burn Up Your Psalms
I've participated sporadically in Lent over the last decade. Some years I think nothing of it; others, I've fasted from food or masturbation. I recalled this notion of psalm-writing. Of putting away my Bible and penning my own. As a writer, I feel it hold such an allure; as a human, too. I'd been wanting to connect with my Creator like this for many months. Why hadn't I? What's been holding me back?
Debt-Free
Before I knew it, YOB was no longer a hobby. It could no longer be treated that way – that is, if I wanted it to grow further. And I did. I knew I could pay off my Juke and be debt-free if I simply kept working at the boarding school through 2017 and maybe a little into 2018. Paying off a 4-year loan in a little over a year was absolutely doable. But that inner beckoning grew louder and stronger.
Broken Belonging
Looking back on the last 16 years, I see that "takes too much effort" excuse as an easy out. Digging deeper, I see something else blocking my pursuit of church membership: my self-worth. Surprise, surprise; it's my single biggest struggle. Am I worthy of church membership? What do I even have to offer the church?
Healthy Rest / Unhealthy Rest
I'm realizing healthy rest bleeds into my productivity. "Healthy productivity" – that's a thing, too. Not just being productive from a sense of duty, distracting-distracting-distracting your heart, but producing from a well-stewarded overflow. Incorporating rest not just after but into my productivity – this is the magic.
To Bleed Unfettered on the Page
A friend recently recommended we shut our Bibles for a second and pen some psalms of our own. I couldn't stop smiling and feeling convicted over his blunt advice. I want to follow it. So, here's to 2020. A bright and shiny new year with a bright and shiny new journal.
I'll Never Reach a Million People
More than ever, I long for my financial needs to be fully met so I can invest even more into creating: more time, more energy, more projects, more equipment. And thus even more connection. How nice it would be right now to have a million supporters. Or at least a few hundred thousand. Heck, a thousand. But here's the thing I desperately need to keep reminding myself. It's what I'm still learning from the hundreds of blogs, books, podcasts, and videos put out over the last decade. I'll never reach a million people if I don't reach the one.
My Name on a Stone
I traveled to Pennsylvania for Christmas, my first trip there since Ahh died this summer. My grandfather's gravestone wasn't chiseled until just recently, so this was my first time visiting it. Seeing it. It was the first time I'd ever seen my name on a stone.
This Chasm of Calling
On the one hand, I'm thrilled. I've never been more passionate in my calling as a storyteller. And yet on the other hand, the more I discover my God-given passions, talents, and deep gladness, the more burdened grows my soul; the more hungry, my heart. I feel the strain in the disconnect between what I want and what I believe God wants for me and others in this chasm of the not yet.
This Hurts
Holidays are sneakily hard on me. I have a good family. A great one, even. I am a blessed guy. And yet the holidays attack me from both sides: reminders of a past drifting further away and a future growing more realized.
God I Hate People
For all the headaches other humans have caused me, Lord knows I've caused the same (and worse) in others. But we're different. We come from different families and cultures. We're all motivated differently. We want and need different things to sustain us, day by day. Okay. I get it now. Now, how can we unite? Around Whom can we follow a common path?
Pen Strokes and Chisels to the Soul
I've grown more in the last two years than the previous ten. More than ever, I feel God's hand guiding mine like pen strokes while chiseling my soul. A mystical also brutal process.
Sexy Changing in the Staying
Traveling changes a man, certainly. It's what draws me to the road and the skies, again and again. The blaze of colors to my exterior and interior alike. But staying put changes a man, too, I'm better realizing. It's not as sexy. Not as readily apparent sometimes.
A Safe Place to Vomit My Heart
I returned to counseling last week for the first time in six months. Counseling, therapy — I never know what to call it. How about a safe place to vomit my heart? Above all, I've needed two things sorely: Scripture and Jesus. Even after just one session back, I feel enriched: a session bookended with prayer as I shared the overview of my story. I started choking up after just twenty minutes.
I Like Coming Home?
I recently climbed the stairwell to my new apartment with a bag full of groceries and thought this distinct thought: I like coming home. It startled me, and I immediately recognized its significance. Because I couldn't remember the last time I'd thought this thought. Alas — it's been years since I truly enjoyed coming home.
The Whispers I Followed Home
After 147 days, I followed the whispers back to Asheville, and I'm thrilled not to be wandering any longer. I found an apartment in town, and a phenomenal one at that. I hesitate with clichés -- especially Christian clichés -- but y'all: this was a God-thing. I'm living in a phenomenal apartment in a phenomenal neighborhood with a phenomenal landlord, and I follow a phenomenal God of provision.
Good Morning. How Could I Not?
But through it all. Every single day. I have much to be grateful for. Blessings in abundance despite the clouds and gray, here and still coming.
Plot Twisting
My life has featured a lot of plot twists I never saw coming. Especially these last two years. It's been brutal. It's also been necessary for the furthering of my story, I now realize. A story that wasn't going anywhere. Stuck in a sleepy, apathetic comfort.
The Part Where I Get to Have Faith
These last couple years, I've fielded more doubts than ever before, not due to any personal tragedy or spiritual apathy, but largely due to public figures and friends alike walking away from Jesus. This same Jesus I follow.
99% of Toms
I wish to be different than 99% of humanity, yes, but lately I've pondered a new concept: what about being different than 99% of Toms? If 99 versions of me would choose to do one thing, do I simply follow along, or do I dare counter with the 1%?