Revelation(s)

So many directions I'm pulled to go with this post. Just saw a trailer for Iron Man with Robert Downey, Jr. that tempts me to write my "Spring Movie Recommendations" post - but I'll wait on that one. Also could write about how fickle my excitement for my screenplay is - 22 pages now. Just need to imprint on my forehead IT'S ONLY A DRAFT. I get so frustrated.

But no, I'm going to go a different way. A friend on Facebook mentioned a blog in her status line audreycaroline.blogspot.com. This is a friend of a friend - I've met her and seen her a couple of times, ever, and I'm not sure why she befriended me on Facebook, but I get status updates of all friends who make updates, and hers piqued my interest. I spent two hours reading every word of this blog, started in January. And I learned many, many things. (Warning: do not go to this blog unless you are ready to have a good cry. And anyone who has struggled with fertility or the death of a child - tread carefully.)

I don't even know where to start. But I'm not going to really write about the pain of this family's loss and how that impacted me. (It did.) The young woman sharing this story is a beautiful writer, and she has a beautiful faith. Incredible, even. I'm teaching the novel Animal Farm right now, and one of the vocabulary words this week was "cynical," and we defined the word as "distrusting of others' motives/disbelief in the sincerity of humanity." And I added my two cents about how I'm not a cynic, but that I can be cynical, and gave an example of how if a student comes in the room and says, "Miss Groce, I just LOVE this class," that I pretty much instantly suspect his/her motives and don't believe what he/she has said.

After reading the other blog tonight, I realize that I am, indeed, a cynic. And I don't think I always was, but I have let the last few years carry me into that place of, dread the word, but bitterness. But reading her blog, full of unfathomable pain and in the midst, faith, I did not feel cynical at all. Not once. This mom, Angie, in the midst of her loss, reached out to people reading her story, the majority of whom were strangers, and made it her purpose at many times to make sure that her readers understood God's goodness, and most importantly, his love for them. Individually. At one point she even focuses on the vast worth of each of us in God's eyes, particularly evident in his son's sacrifice on the Cross - that each of us were known to him as he suffered, for us, willingly. And I wept.

And more. I realized that I am so dramatic - that subtlety is NOT my nature, or my gift, though it is often my preference. I'm incapable of expressing my thoughts or feelings artistically - I don't know if it's more journalistic-ly - frankly, I don't think it is worth identifying right now. I abhor it. (See - that's a dramatic feeling, isn't it?) I wish I had more faith, and that that faith would seep through my words like hers do for me.

So what do I have? I have a blog that I'm (semi) committed to. Writing that excites me on occasion. Faith that changes me on occasion. Doubt that strangles me most days. But I also have hope that glimmers, dimly, but it's there.

Why am I writing? I don't know - ruminating on what I do, who I am, why I do what I do and I am the way I am. Not pleasant. But if I can cling to the truth of who God says I am, worth the trouble.