I'm thinking this morning about what an honor it is to write. Honestly, sometimes I wonder how I'm allowed this privilege.
I've thinking a lot lately about how the practice of writing shapes me. It is the practice itself, and not the final product you read, that is so formative to me.
It exercises my muscles of discipline as I keep my butt in the chair and work regardless of my level of "inspiration." It makes me ask important questions about what defines me and what "success" is as the inner critic rages or I stare down fear or self-doubt.
It makes me a perpetual learner, as I read and research and think carefully through what to say and how to say it. It trains my ears to listen - to you, to conversations around me, to the quiet beating of my own heart. It reminds me that I must listen before I speak, or in this case, write.
It helps me pay attention, to slow and still and stop, to study the beautiful intricacies of our world. It trains my vision to notice the small details, to see what is unsaid, to attend to what is often overlooked.
It invites me to consider God as the ultimate and original Creator and Author, to relish in the beauty of His Story. To seek after beauty and creativity because He is their source and their originator.
Continually, as I sit down to write and as I lean into this craft, I see how it's shaping me. I see the ways writing becomes a metaphor to me of life, of discipleship, of my life as a Christian.
And as if this were not enough, I consider it a great honor, after this behind the scenes process, that you would take the time to read what I've written. That you are gracious to share with me your stories and the ways God is working in you. What a treasure.