Sometimes the simplest truths are the deepest ones.  Tonight I’m facilitating a retreat on Journaling and I mentioned how easy it is to give up once we miss a day or two (or twelve) of journaling.  In those moments, it’s incredibly easy to give up and fall into guilt and shame.  In fact, that often seems to be the temptation.  Yet, the truth is that God doesn’t see us that way.  Instead, he invites us to start anew.

I have not posted a new blog post in over a week.  It’s been a crazy month and I have not had space to sit down and write.  Yet, that’s not completely true.  I have had slivers of time, but have found myself without words and without a desire to write.  I am tired.  Slowly, the guilt has been growing.

You have a year of regular blogging under your belt and now you’re giving up?

Just sit down and write.  What’s wrong with you?

Between all your re-posts and guest posts, you haven’t written consistently in a while.

I should mention that all of these thoughts have a decidedly sneering tone to them.  As I was teaching tonight I talked about this very experience.  I shared how I had not written for over a week and how quickly I fell back into the way of guilt.  When I’m in guilt, I just want to give up.

Just Keep Swimming

I don’t know how this line came to me.  I mean, I know where it came from.  It’s a quote from “Finding Nemo,” when Dory annoyingly chirps the song she learned as a youngun’.  When things get rough, you “just keep swimming.”  Tonight, this line popped up in my head.  I haven’t watched the movie recently.  There’s no reason for me to think of this line, but I needed this reminder tonight.  This is the most posts I’ve missed in a year.  I’m really tired and just want to stop posting.  The line feels like a nudge from God.  I can choose the way of guilt, or I can choose the way of grace and…can you guess?

Just Keep Swimming

That’s the nudge tonight and I’m grateful for it.  It’s simple to be sure, but it speaks to my heart in profound ways.  So, here’s a swish from my fins as I swim on.