In which self doubt fills me…
I remember the time I was left alone with my own thoughts before we had to make the decision to move to West Plains. My wife was working and I just went through in my mind what a huge mistake I was making. “That’s it!” I thought to myself, “We’re not moving!”
Well, my wife got home, and I declared my decision. She told me she couldn’t leave me alone anymore because I get filled with self-doubt. If I would have succeeded in convincing her we were not moving, we would have missed out on so many blessings. It would have been a mistake. As you read my blog, maybe you do, you know I am occasionally hard on myself. It’s part of who I am(?)
So I posted one of my “Strange Confessions” to a work blog, and someone called me on something he misinterpreted. I know I’m not a great writer, but when someone misunderstands what I am trying to communicate I just get rid of it all. He first started out telling me that my post was inappropriate for the group I was in. Fine. He created it. I deleted the post, and stopped following it. Is this what I’m a-gonna do when ever I face some sort of criticism? Maybe. I gotta grow thicker skin.
Is everything I’m writing that irrelevant? Misconstrued? Confusing? … Stupid?
I volunteered to speak at church next week during Sunday School. They have asked everyone who attends Sunday School to speak on something God has been teaching them. I have tried to write the things I want to talk about, but I just hit a wall. I know I want the Spirit to lead me, and I want to share it through God’s word, but I have to at least have an outline or I’ll ramble on and then I’d just get irrelevant, misconstrued, confusing,… stupid.
I want to encourage, share who I am, and have the opportunity to teach what I’m learning. I just feel,… that I’m just pretending. That was the other option for me to call my blog: “The Great Pretender”. It’s a fear I’ve always had: that everyone will know that I’m fake, that the weakness that I give to you when I write, you are all just laughing at me behind my back; none of it matters really. Why keep on writing?