Writing...

Today I challenged my eighth grade students to read something to the class that they had written. Nerves filled the room. Suddenly, my teacher "coolness" had worn off and I was now the evil woman who makes them share their ideas. For shame. Once the first few people had gone, thus paving the way for others, the anxiety seemed to settle down a bit and some of them actually seemed to enjoy the experience.
I remember the first few times that I shared something that I wrote with someone else. I was petrified. What if they didn't like it? Or worse, what if they read my words and found them to be irrelevant. Unoriginal. Boring.  Studying to get my degree in English forced many a "sharing" opportunity. I was taking writing classes with peers that were eloquent and concise. I remember so many days walking back to my dorm room defeated. I had nothing to write about; I had nothing to say. I graduated feeling excited to teach literature but very intimidated about having to teach writing. I knew the fundamentals- I lacked a shred of inspiration.
As odd as it might sound, the more that I learn about Jesus, the more I want to write. Spending time with the Lord awakens my mind. I have found the very source of inspiration. Writing feels so much more important- my words can be a form of worship to ultimate Poet and Storyteller.
Sadly, these  months of pregnancy have made the idea of writing feel a bit tedious. In those precious moments when Ainsley's napping and my time is my own, a nap is much more inviting that my computer or journal. So instead, whenever a thought strikes I scribble little notes on pieces of paper all around our apartment . Perhaps someday I'll gather them up and see if there's anything there. Until then, I believe it's napping time.