[St. John's College, Santa Fe, NM via my iPhone]
Well, well, well. What to write? I feel as if I have blogger's block, but I can almost literally hear my friend Alissa's voice in my head, "There's no such thing as writer's block." She believes you can usually chalk it up to fear, pride, or both, which in my case, all three are very likely. I'd also like to add that sometimes, it may be sheer exhaustion, but whichever of these blocks I'm up against, I must push forward like a football player tackling his rival. ("Clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose!")
I haven't really known what to write here after such a long narrative-blogging absence. But today I figured out one thing I want to say: I am filled with peace and hope. Sure, I fall prey to my old foes of worry and fear . . .
What if the endometriosis comes back?
Will it take us forever to get pregnant? Will Johnny and I literally be as old as Sarah and Abraham (vs. our little joke)?
Will I have an ectopic pregnancy?
Will I ever lose this surgery weight? (Not much to lose, but some.)
Will I be able to transform my raw Glen manuscript into something beautifully well-written?
Will I be able to get into the SPU MFA in Creative Writing program in 1-2 years without a college degree? (I REALLY want to.) My writing will have to grow by impressive leaps and bounds if so, and my acceptance letter would be a "God thing."
Will I ever write great essays and books? (Again, I really want to. What writer doesn't?)
Will I ever be a great editor?
Yet a few Sundays ago, a friend at Church remarked, "You seem so peaceful and happy." You know what? I am, generally speaking. Also, the consensus amongst my peers near and far is that I'm no longer shy. Perhaps I'm reserved at times and definitely still an introvert, but not shy. No one is more surprised by this new development than I am.
It's as if suffering for three years shaved off some of my inhibitions and fears. Not only was I in bug-eyed discomfort, but my eyes were opened anew to what is important and true. To all that poison listed above, I say, "Googly, googly, googly — go away!"
Do not worry about endometriosis. It is gone, hallelujah! Besides, I survived it, didn't I? With God, there is nothing to fear.
God is our Maker, the Maker, my Maker. He made time. He is the giver of life. Do not worry about the babies. They will come, and Johnny, myself, family, and friends will rejoice in epic style.
As far as this ectopic business, don't even go there, my amazing surgeon's required/worrisome statistics or not. Again, God gives life and health and a hospitable womb. Trust Him. Remember the promises, the dreams.
I am beautiful, even with a few extra pounds. I will walk more and more, eventually try yoga again, and heck, maybe get back into the gym when my body is ready, but my identity and self-worth are not dependent on a scale-reading or how my clothes fit. God made me. He loves me. Johnny loves me, and curves. That's the end of that age-old female whine session.
God gave me the gift to write. So I must write, write, write. Every day. And pray for His inspiration. I mean, where else does "the muse" come from? I have a hunch I'll improve if I ignore so-called writer's block, read well, and write, write, write.
As for the MFA? I just lived through a 3-year "God thing," so I wouldn't put it past Him. We shall see what is meant to be.
Yes, I do have to talk to myself like this, or maybe it's more like speaking against the lies to erase their power, which freeze my brain and stop me from trying, writing, and hoping. I've come this far, so I can't stop now.
In this new time of waiting (I've come to believe we will always be waiting on something as creation groans) I drink strong coffee every morning, grateful. I drink good beer or wine, even a little bourbon at night, and eat squares of dark chocolate here and there. I marvel at these miracles I prayed for.
We take long walks when the day's weather cools off. I watch the light change and spy on birds in the 'hood. I listen to the free cicada choir. I talk to family and friends, laugh, and listen (or sometimes ramble on); I wish I could hear a loved one's voice every single day. I work hard and become weary. I rest. I read good books and listen to good music. I want to see a great movie ASAP. I sing around the house. I make travel plans in my head. I kiss our three cats behind their ears, which I know they love even when they wriggle to get down. I love my husband more than he knows, and ponder how to be a better wife as much as I ponder how to be a better writer. Actually, I want to be a better wife a lot more.
I am peaceful, and I am human. I fail and I get back up again. I am happy, thankful, and wait to see what I cannot see. And I am blogging again.
What will I write next? God only knows.