It’s hard for me to blog right now. I just can’t find the words.
I have most of a post written about how much I love the Olympics. And it’s true. I do love them. They bring back fuzzy memories of sitting with my mom on the couch and cheering away. And there are so many awesome sports out there. Modern pentathalon, anyone?
In fact, I love the Olympics so much that my excuse for not blogging is that I’ve been too busy watching our gymnasts get their hearts broken, and how can you think of blogging at a time like this.
But really, my heart has seasons. There are times to share, and times to refrain from sharing, times for words and times when they’re not the way to make something significant.
I always knew there was a reason that the book of Ecclesiastes is one of my favorites. Seriously, no one just tells it like it is like The Prophet in Ecclesiastes. What has value? Oh, right, NOT A WHOLE LOT. I like people who are honest with me, even when it’s hard.
I’m not just struggling to blog lately, I’m struggling to write at all. The Novel is more than 3/4 of the way re-written, but I haven’t been able to do much on it in the last few days. I’d hoped to finish the rewrite before school starts (next Wednesday) but that looks more dubious as the days go by.
You know, that might be the key. Last week, I pushed to get a lot done on The Novel and worked more intensely than I would have otherwise (which isn’t very intense, given The Job and The Husband, not to mention The Olympics and The Gymnasts). I felt fine while I was doing it, but now I feel like the words wore out. This happened before, the last time I tried to do a push on The Novel.
So maybe that’s the lesson, that I only have so many words, at least of the ones that are close to my heart, per week or month or year. If I use them up, it’s fine, but I have to wait for the well to fill again.
Fill, well, fill.