25 Years of Words

I spent some time this week preparing to speak, and as I did so, I dug through the archives of my writing to chronicle my journey. I've actually really enjoyed this prep time, because it's allowed me to look over the whole of my writing adventure and see some things that God has done in preparing me for where I am now and, I'm sure, where I'm going in the future.

I don't want to give away my whole talk, in case any of you happen to be there, but I do want to share this one piece of it that stuck out to me particularly.

It's been twenty-five years since I published my first writing.

Twenty. Five. Years.

We could pause to talk about how I'm not even old enough to have been able to hold a pencil twenty-five years ago, but I fear you might just laugh at me.

Twenty-five years ago, I was newly passionate about writing. Mom and Dad had given me a journal for Christmas just a few months earlier, and I was diligently recording the fascinating happenings of my day. (AKA high school drama and the recap of that day's Little House on the Prairie episode.)

I soaked up the chance to do any and all writing assignments for school, and I was just learning that this writing thing could actually be a thing.

Back in those days, Walk Thru the Bible Ministries was under the leadership of a guy named Bruce Wilkinson. You remember him, right? The Prayer of Jabez? They published a monthly devotional magazine called YouthWalk, which it appears is no longer in publication. It was geared for teens and was absolutely foundational for me in the early years of my serious pursuit of Christ. Though I had become a Christian when I was six, I got serious about having a growing, maturing relationship with Jesus at eleven, and shortly after that, I discovered YouthWalk. Our church had a subscription, and I would eagerly pick up my new copy every month, take it home, and read it faithfully every single night before my self-imposed bedtime of 10:15 p.m.

(I really was a dream child at times. You're welcome, Mom and Dad. I was a real pain at other times. I'm sorry, Mom and Dad.)

Anyway - if you want to read the full story about this first publishing, what I wrote about, and how I found out it was actually being published, you can read about it in this post and this one.

I won't rewrite the whole story here, because today isn't about that day twenty-five years ago (almost exactly) when I found out my article had been accepted.

Today is about the twenty-five years of words that have followed.

Since that day, I've written millions...billions...trillions (I failed math and don't really know what comes after that) of words.

Some of them have been well-crafted in ways that continue to surprise even me.

Some of them have been truly terrible and I'm glad they're hidden in the privacy of journals.

Some of them have been truly terrible and I wish they would have been confined to the journals, but they escaped publicly.

I've learned that I'm not a fiction writer, and all attempts to become one were among the "truly terrible" category.

I've learned that I love non-fiction and tend to lean toward being funny or deep, with little middle ground.

I've shared words on this blog since 2006, and since 2011, the words have appeared every single day. This blog isn't a money-maker and it doesn't have a massive readership. But I love it, and I love all of you who come to visit and read the sometimes-good/sometimes-awkward words shared here.

I've published two books, and that still blows my mind.

I've written way more than two books and whether any of those other manuscripts ever see an audience or not doesn't matter to me. The words had to escape my head, and they did.

In the eyes of a lot of writing professionals, I'm probably a flighty failure. I don't have a specific enough niche. I don't have a big enough "fan base." I choose to write when the words flow and don't force them out if they don't.

But I've been given the gift of twenty-five years of words that have been shared through all kinds of platforms. Small though they may be, they're the platforms God has put before me, and I'm grateful for them.

As I get older, I try to be so careful about making sure every word counts and the poorly written ones stay in the confines of the journals.

And I try to write about more than television show recaps.

Twenty-five years is a long time, but I'm so glad this last quarter century has been filled with words for me. It's been a complete joy.

And now, a complete joy for you:

Nineties bangs.

(I think the bio should have said, "enjoys reading, writing, and memorizing episodes of Little House.)