why i write

This all started when my husband was asked by his former teammate what my hobbies were.  Austin loves golf. He played baseball professionally, but he's somehow infatuated with all things golf. He wakes up extra early to play it, goes to bed extra late watching it, and will even grip my fingers in the position of his club to get some practice swings in as we stroll through Barnes and Noble hand in hand. But my hobbies? I was stumped.

Before I could come up with an adequate response,  I asked Austin how he answered the question. “Blogging and writing in your journal.” He answered matter-of-factly. I was shocked. Here I am, a newly-married, former D1 athlete and my husband’s idea of what I love to spend the majority of my time doing was blogging and writing in my journal? “I’m a loser.” I muttered, looking blankly past him. With many awws, kisses on my cheek and some inadequate convincing of his undying love of my new-found, nerdy self he gently inquired, “Well what would you have wanted me to say?”

I spent the next few hours feeling dizzy from the rounding circles in my mind. I thought until my head hurt. What do I like to do? What are the things that make Kristin tick? And after what felt like miles on a track, I huffed and puffed my way back to the starting line. It's true. I love to write. Before this breakthrough, writing was all about me. I wrote in my journal to try to bring order to the frenzy of my thoughts swirling around me. I wrote to keep my focus on God while I prayed. I wrote to remember the answered prayers I had written months before. I wrote to be quiet for more than two seconds. And I wrote because it made me feel like me.

I think I have many insecurities. I don’t think. I know. I am pretty good at hiding them though. I never wanted to be a girl that constantly drew attention to herself and her faults in an effort to be built up by the people around her. So when an insecurity comes to my mind, I am an expert at sweeping it under the rug. I think to myself, I’ll deal with that later, or who really cares? The idea of writing for someone other than myself crawls with insecurities. And candidly, it scares the crap out of me. But maybe when God gifts me with a desire or a passion it's a good thing to share it. Even if I'm terrified. 

This is my free time. This is my escape. This is my fun. This is my hobby. I want this to be a story of God in me. A story that illustrates that even a tall, quiet girl that tends to slouch in public has been guided down a journey filled to the brim with ravishing highlights, heartbreaking let-downs, and enough spectacular everyday moments to believe down to the hollowest parts of me that life's stories are worth listening to and even more worth telling. 

So maybe you're operating in your sweet spot. Maybe you create for a living. Maybe you get paid to do something you both love and fear. But whatever it is that you love, that hidden treasure of passion that too often slips through your fingers... share it. Share it when it hurts. Share it when you're afraid. Share it. Because I believe God's greatest pleasure and most genuine joy comes when his sons and daughters walk on the balance beam between fear and fulfillment. Our steps may be wobbly, but as long as we keep walking in our gifts and passions I know for certain that the God of the Universe will overflow our hearts with His goodness.  And that makes me want to write.