To Write. Or not to Write.

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.

Sigh.

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