The things I love are holding me back. When I wake up in the morning, I think about trying to get some writing done before school. I don’t think about God or my Bible. Just writing, school, and often my baby brother, since he often wakes up before I do. As I eat breakfast, I think about how boring Cheerios are. When I eat lunch, I think about how lunch is the most boring meal in the world, unless there are good leftovers, which doesn’t happen often, there being seven people in my household. During school, I think about how annoying my literature class is and how I’d much rather be working on my own personal creative writing instead of poems and Shakespeare (or other well known/classical writers), or how history is so dry, even though I know it can be interesting, or how grammar is tedious since while it might take me a moment to remember which is a coordinating conjunction and a correlative one, I know how to use them in principle and I learned all of this stiff last year, didn’t I?. When I’m doing chores, I think about how school ran late so now I have a bunch to clean before my dad gets home from work, because we don’t want him to come home to a messy house. When I eat dinner, I think about how the day is nearly over and I’ve drank barely half a glass of water all afternoon—which is really bad. When I go to bed at night, I think about the writing I did that day and what my characters did and such. Often, I end up dreaming about them.
Mostly, I think about writing. I love writing. I love the fictional characters that exist only in my head and I love exploring things through their eyes.
I’m told I’m good at writing, too, even if I personally see more faults in my work than good, so I like to think its one of my talents.
But it gets in the way of God.
And I’m pretty sure, if I want to have a proper relationship with God, I need to get it out of my way. But it’s my favorite hobby. It’s my break from real world stress and issues.
What would I do if I didn’t write? Who would I be if I wasn’t a writer?
Why would God give me a talent that I only have to push away again?
I need help. What should I do? Writing has dominated my life for three years, so without it, I don’t even have anything to /do/ in the evenings after school. I could read, but I’ve noticed I can’t do that for very long without getting a headache. I could draw, but I’ve been so stressed out hat I can’t seem to draw more than once a month. I could play music, but my flute hurts my throat so hat I can only play for fifteen minutes at a time, at least until I work it up higher. Fifteen minutes is not very long.
But that’s wrong. I don’t need to fill my free time with other things. I need more time with God. But it isn’t supposed to be just a few moments that you spend with God, right? You’re supposed to honor and worship and praise and be with him throughout the /entire/ day. I don’t know how to do that.
I think it’s not really something I do but it’s more of a perspective. But I’m not sure how to get that. Why should God care if I write fiction. Why should God care I like drawing girls with really long hair?
I don’t know all of my talents, obviously. I know that I’ve been told I’m good at writing, drawing, and playing the flute. Aside from that, I can’t think of much else. I can see how I can use the flute to worship God—but that’s hard when every time I sit down to use the instrument, I get sorely frustrated at the un-music-like noise that comes out of it due to not having practiced in six years. I don’t know about the others. I don’t know how to paint or anything, I just draw with a pencil and sometimes charcoal when I’m feeling different. How can that be used to honor God? I can’t see a way.
I know there are people I can ask. There’s my pastor, there’s my three youth leaders, there’s my brother’s pastor and his wife, there’s who knows how many other people in the church who don’t really know me but would probably be more than willing to help me. There’s also my parents.
But I can’t ask. Everytime something happens, I think, I’m going to talk to my youth leaders about this. Then, by the time Wednesday rolls around, I just feel silly. And I don’t say anything. Sometimes, I don’t quite feel silly and I gather up the courage I have to ask. Then, while I’m waiting for them to finish their conversation with someone else (my leaders seem to know every single other person in the church), I’ve lost my resolve. I can’t do it. I’m scared, sometimes even terrified, of asking and I don’t know why. It doesn’t make any sense. Why should I be scared of asking for help? I’m not scared of admitting I need help. I’m not scared of my church or my leaders.
The only thing I can think of is that I’m scared of not being taken seriously. Often, I can’t express things into words properly and I screw things up. My dad makes comments like, “and you call yourself a writer?” and I feel awful. My mom often misunderstands. I can never really express what I feel, so nobody understands, not as much as I need them to. They usually understand pieces, but I can’t even /express/ the whole picture, so they never realize they’re missing something.
Even now, I don’t think I’m saying this right. I’m making certain parts seem like no big of a deal, when they are, so it makes no sense. I barely understand myself now.
I hate being scared. It’s the second worst thing I’ve ever felt—the worst being that…I don’t understand why God cares. Why should He? Why should He bother caring about me? Maybe He doesn’t, not really. I know the Bible says that’s wrong, so I don’t even know why I still feel that way, but when I’m really upset and I need God’s help, I’m afraid he won’t help because he doesn’t care about itsy bitsy me, out of the seven billion or however many people are on the Earth now.