Sometimes the blank screen is the most intimidating thing in the world for me. The whiteness of the screen taunts me as if it knows what I could write but won’t, because if I unleash what brews inside there’s a risk of rejection.

I can’t control it.

So, I sit here staring into the depths of the dimly lit screen pleading for something profoundly spiritual but not profoundly personal.  I can’t, I won’t be vulnerable here.  Not when I can’t see the faces of others looking back at me.  Not when I can’t gauge how they are receiving my words and by default me.  Not when…

I can’t control it.

I talk about writing as an art form…crafting the words on the page to convey exactly what I want to say. This is how I justify my perfectionism.  Art takes work…”I craft my papers” is simply code for “if I just let go it won’t be perfect.”

I can’t control it.

If I just let go then I will find myself in a world I’m not so comfortable with – the emotional world. Words have that power. Speaking things into existence and refusing to let me live as if reason trumps everything. I know this because just the other day I was talking to a friend and as I verbalized my reasoning for why I didn’t have an answer to their question tears formed in my eyes and seeped out the corners.  I apologized and gave a logical reason “it’s just the stress.”

I can’t control it.

Last Lent I preached a sermon on unmet expectations. How those that celebrated the triumphal entry quickly discovered that what they expected of Jesus wasn’t going to happen.  He wasn’t going to be an earthly king. The church I was preaching at was one that I have worked at for many years, and we went through a lot last year. So, I talked about how there are times in our lives when we have unmet expectations, maybe even of Jesus. During those times we (or maybe it’s just me) want to scream “God this isn’t how it’s suppose to be” 

I can’t control it.

Last Lent I was just trying to survive. The only way I could do that was to retreat inward and hide within myself.  I had to control it, but this Lent will be different. This Lent I’m not retreating inward, I’m not giving up chocolate, meat or swearing. Instead, I’m choosing to trust and let go of the illusion of control.  I’m choosing to have hard conversations. I’m choosing to do what terrifies me. I’m choosing to live and to risk.  I don’t know how it will all turn out…and I’m pretty sure pain and imperfection is part of the deal.  But it’s okay.

I can’t control it.