Audience of One: An Apology to the Blogosphere

I’m not a very good blogger.  You may have noticed.  I have.  Post once a day, all the books, articles, and successful bloggers say.  Do this, and you’ll be a blog-star.

I’m a bad blogger.

Oh, I’ve studied.  I know what it takes to be a good one.  In my obsessive need to know every detail of every activity I sink my teeth- or in this case, my heart- into, I’ve read, researched, and tinkered.  Just ask me what a widget is.

Yet I remain a very bad blogger.

It’s tempting to write more often.  A comment will pop up in my inbox or I’ll just happen (yeah, right) to glance at my stats and see that people have been visiting this little blog with no new material in over a month.  And I’ll think to myself, You should write something.  Something, Cory.  Anything.  Don’t you want to keep the visitors coming?

And still, I sit on my hands.

I warned you, I am a very bad blogger.

And that’s okay.  My perfectionist self has come to terms with it, and I’ll tell you why:

Because I have nothing good to say.  And that’s the truth.

I can make up a lot of junk for you.  I’m fabulous at it.  Four years of writing papers for an English degree got me lots of practice.  But here, I refuse.  Even if it means death by blog.

When I do write, I neglect the rules.  Only a few hundred words, they say.  Just enough for content but not so many as to bore the reader who isn’t reading a dissertation here, but a snippet.  This is web-reading- short and sweet. 

Yet on and on I type.  The thoughts pour, the verses bubble up, and before long, the few-hundred-word dam breaks and the blog runneth over in rhetoric.

I should dig myself a nice little pit and throw this blog inside with a cold stone marker that says:

coriander and honey

December 2010-October 2011

Rest in Peace

But I won’t.  Even if  by blogging standards, I’m a failure.  I won’t because I don’t really write for the world wide audience.

I write for an audience of One. 

I pray and attempt to write only when prompted, pushed, or smacked upside the head to do so.

I was reminded of this a few weeks ago,  struggling with my non-existent blogging, and reading in 2nd Samuel (24), and then again the other day while reading in 1st Chronicles (21) and yet again that very night when a dear friend mentioned this same story.  I knew the first time I read it that I needed to write about it.  But as God is ever-patient, He followed up with the push and the smack upside the head.

It comes from the story of King David.  Tucked in amongst the psalm writing, sheep tending, giant slaying, and rooftop philandering, is a small but powerful story-   so powerful in fact, that it’s chronicled not once but twice in the pages of God’s love story to us.  What juicy bit of history, you may wonder, got 2 whole chapters in 2 separate books of the Old Testament set aside for it?  Wait for it………

David counted his army.

You’re outraged, I know.  How dare he?  A king counting his army?  An unpardonable sin.

But as you dig a bit deeper you see the whole picture.  The story is about a king who’s doing pretty well.  Victory after victory has been handed over to him along with wealth, territory, and power.  Up until now, it has only been prayer and complete trust in the mighty hand of God that has given David what he’s won.

And up until now that was enough.  But that’s the funny thing with successes.  After awhile, we start to think we’re hot stuff.  And we start to count-  the men in our vast army…or maybe the blog followers.  We count the pounds lost, the miles run, the titles earned, the cases won.  We take stock of our age, our wage, the spouse, the house, the marriage, the baby carriage, the ex, the sex, all of it.  Bank account, shoe amount, Facebook friends and happily-ever ends.  If we can count it and compare it, we do.   And whether we’re in a castle, on the web, at the workplace, mall, bank, gym, or playground, we look for something to pat ourselves on the back about and say, “Good job.  I did that.  Me.  Mine.”

We start to sound a little like toddlers- but toddlers with a heavenly Daddy.  As if every good and perfect gift didn’t come from His hand.  As if we could take one step, one breath, without Him.

As if I could write one blog, one word, without Him.

I suppose I could.  Sometimes I’m tempted to.  Gotta keep the readers coming, you know.

And unfortunately, maybe sometimes I have and maybe sometimes I will.  But I have no interest in writing my own musings.  And trust me, neither do you.  The best I can come up with are puffs of wind and smoke- pat words and niceties that do nothing to change the world but only barge in on the conversation God is fully capable of having and is, with every one of us, whether we’re listening or not.

The blogosphere doesn’t need my opinions.  What you, I, what we all need is not flimsy drivel, but truth,  take-it-to-the-bank kind of truth.  We need the cold-hard-cash kind of truth, not monopoly money masquerading as the real thing.  Anything less is a waste of paper, pixels, time.

The only way I know to find that kind of truth and share it is to continue to read and listen, and sometimes listen again and again until I know He’s saying something He wants me to write about.  Because it’s then that it’s His doing and not mine.  When I wait on every word from His mouth and depend on it like water is when I can no longer take any credit and all glory goes to Him.  And that is my heart’s desire.

So I cannot promise to write often or even ever again.  All I can do is promise to read long and listen hard, and try to obey when His prompting puts me in front of this keyboard and computer screen.

I remain, 1000 words later, faithfully yours,

A truly, very bad, very dependent, but very content blogger