I’m having a bit of a Blogging Identity Crisis. I have long envisioned my blog as a sort of intersection between the practical and the poetic, and I am content with my lack of a specific topic focus. I know that’s kind of against the “rules” for growing a blog – if you blog recipes and rainy day activities, then you should not also be taking on heavy spiritual or moral issues, or poetry and art, or God forbid – politics. Your blog should be about *something* specific. IF you are interested in growing your blog beyond the usual mom/grandma/bff readership, that is… which, I am.
Can I just lay it all bare for you here, knocking knees and insecurities aside? I do desire to see this thing grow. I think that most bloggers do, if they’re honest with themselves. (We all want to be heard.) I have two main reasons:
1) It is my art and soul poured out into word form. Most artists want their art to be acknowledged. Even beyond that, I want my art to matter. I want it to move hearts and encourage others in this messy business of humanity. I want it be an expression of my status as an image-bearer of Christ, and I want it to speak love and truth. Growing subscriber numbers and comments don’t define me, but heck yeah, they sure are encouraging. When someone shares my writing with others and likes what they read I am blown away and honoured.
2) It is a potential form of income-earning that I would like to explore. If I successfully grow my blog enough then the potential for earning a tiny bit of extra for my family’s income would be a tremendous blessing. We have willingly chosen a life of “poverty” (please know that I mean this relative to our own culture, not those around the world who are truly in poverty) in order to pursue overseas missions aviation. We are barely making ends meet right now, but we are learning huge lessons about trust and God’s provision, not to mention frugality and creativity in meeting physical needs.
Now, perhaps you are thinking that I’m nuts. That I’m no artist, and that my writing certainly isn’t good or special enough to ever grow that much. Trust me, I have those fears myself. (Boy, do I ever!).
But, you know, maybe Mandy is onto something when she says:
“…maybe, just maybe, we’re all a bit nervous from time to time that what we have to offer isn’t enough. And we’re all a bit nervous that we aren’t going to break through the noise to draw attention to the message that burns within us. And we’re all a bit nervous that the crowd won’t have ears to hear or eyes to see. And maybe that’s just part of being an artist” (emphasis mine).
And isn’t that just it?
Trying to break through the noise to draw attention to the message that burns within us.
That is why I write in this space.
And yet sometimes I look at my latest posts and all I feel is dull. Enter: this little Blogging Identity Crisis. Sometimes I want to write about the practical stuff – the daily grind of being a natural-minded mama of nearly three littles just trying to hang on and maybe even stick my head out the window and feel the wind rushing by as I scrape up dried bits of food from the floor, wipe poopy bums, and deal with discipline issues beyond my expertise. A recipe for something delicious and nourishing (though I totally believe that food can be art, too), a practical discussion on raising three-year-olds… stuff like that. Then at other times I want to hunker down over a piece of carrot cake and a steaming cup of caramel rooibos, and just talk about the heavy stuff. Theology, the church, pregnancy and educated childbirth, morality and God, whole foods and natural living. Sometimes I want to share my *gasp* opinions on things without worrying that I’ll disappoint or offend someone, somehow. I’m not in neat little categories, and if men are like waffles and women are like spaghetti (are they really?) then I’m the most tangled plate of spaghetti you’ve ever seen. (Perhaps you are, too?)
I don’t want to write dull and drivel (yet sometimes I do). I want to write important things. I want to blaze a shining spotlight on the daily grind and declare its own glorious importance, and to talk about the stuff that burns within me. I want to give you a recipe for play dough but at the same time to stand up and shout “Please don’t just make play-dough. Make art. Make something. Just live out loud with your audacious self and those around you, and don’t worry if it dries out because, darling, we can fix that!”.
I’m just not sure that it’s resonating with anyone, and I’m trying not to fret about it. To have a voice and be heard is a precious thing, and I hold it sacred in my hands, carrying on with my living, trying to live more love out loud.
(*Takes a sip of tea and bite of carrot cake*… Whew. OK. You tell me. Why do you read along here? What do you want me to write about more? What do you want me to stop blathering on about (I probably won’t, but I’m curious I write for you, for me, for Him, for love, so dear friends, it’s your turn to share your thoughts with me.