I keep getting the same message everywhere, for months now – write, write, write. From people I know. From visioning. From other peoples’ posts. From ads for publishing written work that keep showing up in my newsfeeds.
Yet, I am in resistance. I don’t know why. Perhaps it is just so BIG, and I am lazy. I just read that Teresa of Avila had to be ordered to write by her superiors, and I can understand. Not that I am a saint. Or a Spiritual Director. One doesn’t think anyone would be interested. One thinks of all those with followings, and one wonders, “Who am I to believe I have something of value to share?” “Who am I to believe I can give anyone else any spiritual direction?” I’m just an old lady who grows vegetables in the desert and sings. No one special.
When I share purely for my own growth as I am doing now, I feel safer. But safer isn’t why I am called to write. I am pasting this from a personal journal. Less safe, still, not many here.
I study every day the writings of other people. And I share them. The ones which speak what I know to be true in my own experience. It’s like I am hiding, letting these exalted others speak for me, that feels less arrogant.
Then I remember the deep dark days of my past, and I realize someone may benefit. I have come so far. The Mystical Presence is always with me. I remember the people who were there for me. Who taught me what they knew. And I think, “Yes, I must. It’s an obligation.” “What if just one person benefits?” Then I have a grey day, and I think it is arrogant to think I have anything of benefit to say. Other than for my own growth.
I remember my original call to ministry, and this feels like that. Urgent. But then I remember my failings and I shrink again from the task.