The Fear of Me

Bismihi Ta’ala

How often do I start a blog post, only to abandon it after a few words, a paragraph or even almost at the end? More often than I can count.  The number of un-posted drafts in my archive is almost depressing.  It reminds me that I don’t seem to be able to finish my thoughts or complete my ideas.  I have plenty of starts, but so few conclusions.   What does that say about me?  That I am simply a bundle of confused questions that seem to meander along without ever reaching anywhere…?

Once upon a time, I knew things.  I had a solid framework within which I worked, and everything around me eventually fitted into that outline.  It all made sense.  In some ways, I guess it still does – the pieces still seem to fall into place neatly, life goes on without too much fuss.  But the framework has changed.  A bit like the expansion of the universe, the boundaries of my being seem to no longer be solid.  They have morphed, grown, changed, adapted and left me in the middle of an existence I don’t fully comprehend.

I constantly surprise myself by thinking or feeling things that I had never considered as part of my character.  Where once I recognized myself with every choice and decision I made, now I often feel like I am observing a stranger who will do something unexpected at any moment.  Sometimes, I reach out and pull that other person back on track, other times I can only watch helplessly and wonder what is happening.

I think I am searching once again; not quite sure what for, but I hope I discover it soon.

In the meantime, I read the blogs of other people on topics as varied as Politics to Parenthood and envy how each writer seems so sure of what they’re saying, even when they’re saying that they don’t know much.  I’m not sure of what I’m saying, of what I want to say, of what I’m trying to explain or even what message I want to pass on.  Perhaps that’s why I shy away from clicking the ‘Publish’ button more often than not.

Does it matter though?  I don’t claim to be a leader or a preacher.  I don’t – and don’t want to –  take on the responsibility of converting people to my way of thinking.  I just want to say the things I think, feel and believe in.  I want to explain why the world frustrates and disappoints me so much and what keeps me going every day anyway.  And I want to do this in the hope that someone will either understand and find some consolation in what I write or will empathise and help me out.

At the end of the day, there are countless words that have been spoken since God first created them, but only those of any worth or value will survive.  The rest of them like the thousands on this blog will simply fade away and the only person accountable for them will be the wordsmith.

Perhaps that is it.  I know that there will be a Day when I will face every single word (and thought) once again – the angry, the unreasonable, the desperate, the unjust along with the kind, the generous, the fair and the loving.   I may forget my own words, but there is One Who never will.  Perhaps, there lies the truth of the matter:

I am afraid of meeting my words, my expressions – my true and complete self – in privacy with my Lord.