Why I Write

By now you may be wondering why I write these things. It's not part of my job description. I'm not getting class credit. I'm certainly not getting paid. So why do I write the things that I do and post them for all the world to see on the interweb?

Honestly, I hadn't ever really thought about that question until yesterday. Never even crossed my mind. It seemed like a perfectly logical thing to do for me. There are these things called blogs where people write about whatever they want. Why not write one of my own? But the more I think about it, the more I begin to wonder why exactly I have been writing. What is it about the medium of writing that has led me to jump into it so fervently (well, at least most of the time).

Like the subject of the last blog, it came from the thought of something small. I began to notice that I don't really do well with carrying on a conversation. I guess I always knew this, but it became more clear to me over the past week or so. You see whenever we would go out in a big group to dinner, or when we would have groups of people over to the house, I would talk with someone for a little while, but then they would eventually begin talking to someone else and I usually ended up sitting there silently while conversations happened around me. This seemed to be somewhat of a phenomenon to me and so I started silently experimenting. You see I would usually be at one end of long table when we would go out. So in order to hopefully prevent this phenomenon I started deliberately sitting in the center of the table, hoping that this would make it easier to maintain conversations. To no avail, as now the people across from me and the people on either side would turn to one direction or another and again I would sit alone silently.

But this week made me absolutely sure. You see small things are starting to appear more clearly to me. And I realized after the last blog that even when I am around someone that all I want to do is stay next to them and talk for hours on end, I am still not able to carry out a decent conversation. Just can't do it. No matter how much I want to talk to that person and never stop talking to that person, still can't do it.

But when I write...

Wow. Something comes alive within me when I put words to a page. Every overflowing thought that is constantly within my head but never wants to leave my lips flows freely from my short, chubby fingertips and I am transported to a far off place where I am able to wax poetically and fluidly among the people who I am so desperate to interact with.

So why do I write? Quite simply, because my written words express the feelings that my heart contains but that my words are not capable of expressing.

Pastor Mama Coco

Stories

I love listening to people's stories. From their entire life story to how their dinner date went last night, I love listening to people talk about their life. I guess it's because nobody's story is the same. Each one has it's own intricacies. It's own flaws. It's own flow. But at the same time everyone's story is really quite the same. They came from somewhere. They're doing something. They want to be doing something else. The ebb and flow of life.

You see regardless of what some might say, we are all a part of one story. Our stories aren't the real story. They are the subplots. Each of our stories belongs to the real story. The story of life that began long ago. Each of our lives is a thread in a rich tapestry that is being woven daily. And we don't ever really know what that tapestry is looking like. How the threads of our story are affecting the overall picture. You see each time we take an action, we alter our thread. Every time a thread is changed, the story of the world changes with it.

And quite frankly, sometimes it feels like someone's playing with matches.

Life isn't all flowers and rainbows. It's not butterflies and springtime. Sometimes life sucks. Period. But life can also be wonderful. These things come and go. Sometimes everything feels like it's going the way that you imagined it would. Sometimes it feels like someone is pulling the rug out from under you, then wrapping you in the rug and lighting it on fire. Sometimes we really wonder what kind of messed up tapestry could be possibly be being made right now.

Then it happens.

That one thing that makes you feel like all is right with the world again. The thing that makes you think maybe life could turn out ok after all. That one thing that makes you stop and say "wow, this life really is worth living."

I don't know what that is for you. For me it was an innocent smile and a wave. Nothing major. Happens everyday most likely. But for me it was so much more than that. It was the start of new day. It was like a fresh morning breeze after years of stale breath. Like the sun rising for the first time in centuries of darkness. A sign that there was still hope within this world. That God's promises still ring true. That old can be made new. That life doesn't have to suck all the time. That hope still rises up from the ground anew.

I know it seems like I'm drawing a lot from something so simple as a smile and wave. But the fact of the matter is that for all that has happened in the time I've been writing this blog, I have honestly been looking for any shred of hope. Any one thing that might show that there is still a reason for me to keep writing. To keep pursuing the life I have. And something simple was all I really needed. To breathe again. To hope again. Maybe even to love again. But most importantly, to live again.

Pastor Mama CoCo