I don’t get a paycheck in the mail for it.
I don’t get a grade on a report card for it.
I don’t get a pat on the back for it.
Most of the time I don’t get much of anything for it, except a few likes or comments from bloggers who agree with me about a particular post.
Some people have told me I’m crazy because I write. For free. For no return of any sort.
And sometimes I understand where they’re coming from.
If you ask me why I began writing there are two people in my life I have to blame.
First, my third grade teacher who handed me my first journal to write in during class. All the other kids hated writing time. They dreaded that time during the day where they had to journal. Me? I couldn’t wait for it. That journal became the first of my writing days. I started keeping my own journal since that day. (I’m now on #15).
Journals were where I wrote what I was going through.
What God was teaching me.
My dreams and goals.
It became my outlet of putting into words what was going on in my world as I was trying to make sense of it all.
It became my own personal way of recording the lows, the high’s, the twist’s, the turn’s, and all of the lessons that came along with this ride called “life”. And I absolutely loved it.
The second person I’d have to blame is my father.
He’s also a writer.
He began in his thirties when my mom was dealing with health issues.
There were times he was left at home with four little kids while she was lying in a hospital far away for weeks.
Until that season in his life he never wrote but after it writing became his outlet.
Writing poetry particularly.
And since that day on he never stopped. He has already published a few Russian poetry books and he writes and publishes his church magazine.
And he has the coolest editor ever. My mom. 😉
Too bad I didn’t get too much of those poetry skills from him. But at least I can give him credit for my passion for writing. 🙂
Sometimes I have to keep on reminding myself of that question because I forget. (which I did here).
Some people write for the audience. They are inspired by the stats. The numbers of followers they have. The numbers of likes they get. The amount of comments people leave.
Some people write for themselves. Just like my dad they may be walking through a particularly difficult season in life and they need an outlet to express themselves. A place where they can share their struggles, their feelings, their pain.
Me? I like to write because it’s my way of making sense of my faith.
Of where God is leading me.
Of what He is teaching me along the way.
I like to write because it comes naturally to me.
Some people are born with a microphone in their hand. Ready to sing on a stage.
Some people are born with a paint brush in their hand. Ready to paint all day, any day.
Some people are born with a passport in their hand. Ready to travel to a foreign country as a missionary.
I must have been born with pen and paper in my hand because I’m always ready to write.
Ready to share what is in my mind and on my heart.
Words are always flowing through my mind. Day and night.
I want to turn everything God teaches me into a poem, into a phrase, into a blog.
And this is why I write.
To challenge myself and others through God’s Word based on my own convictions.
To encourage others in their walk with God.
To makes sense of life and all that’s in it.
Why do you write?