It was subconscious at first, weeks that passed without notice.
I have this tendency to ignore incomplete things, like emails unanswered or projects unfinished. It's like responding or finishing draws attention to the fact that I failed, that I didn't finish in a responsible or timely manner. So I ignore it.
That's what I did here. I didn't want to draw attention to the fact that I didn't reach my lofty 52 essays goal, so I ignored it. When people asked, I mumbled something about "the busyness of the season" or "work is just so crazy right now."
The truth is, something big and overwhelming happened in my life. Something personal and private, and it consumed me. I didn't have the emotional stamina to write my feelings or thoughts, because those thoughts had become a slave to something bigger.
In January, I started meeting weekly with a physical therapist to address an issue that has bothered me for the past three years. It took me a whole year just to admit I had a problem.
There is something so frustrating about a body that won't work the way it should, the way you think it should. I spent a lot of time angry at God, feeling like I had been dealt an unfair hand.
"I did everything right!" I said.
So I continued my weekly therapy visits, worked my home therapy every night. And I stewed in it.
I stewed in the unfairness of it, the time it was costing me, the financial expense, all of it.
And then one night, I was standing in the shower, lamenting my normal lament, and I felt God say to me, "Lauren. It was never about you. It was always about me."
. . .
Once I realized my error, I become so aware of what was happening: a raise to cover the extra medical costs, a physical therapist who is a leading expert in the field - but also an amazing Christian mentor who looked at me and said, "Me too," and emotional turmoil that God slowly began to churn into spiritual maturity.
It was never about me, but I had let this problem define me. It rocked me to the core. I let it become the thing I was most ashamed about, instead of something that pointed directly to grace.
. . .
I read a wonderful post this week by Nancy Ray - words of encouragement on not meeting your goals. I have this tendency to look back on my past and see big marks of failure - not finishing my 52 essays goal, needing therapy, etc.
And I know that pattern of behavior is wrong. I'm working on this.
So I'm back today because I'm ready to address this. I miss writing. I'm ready to draw attention to the fact that I didn't finish something, as uncomfortable as it feels.
I don't have a plan. I don't have a bold statement. But I am ready to write again.