I Give You My Words
by Rebecca the Bookseller
The words in this blog have been inside me for awhile. Sometimes words, like sneezes, just have to come out.
Words are important. We use them, not just to communicate, but to express and inspire and admonish and cajole. We use them to demonstrate rage because, for many of us, violence is not an acceptable option. We use them to ask for help, and forgiveness. We use them to make promises.
Some people are content, even happy, to use few words. Some are quiet by nature, and some choose silence. Alas, I am not one of them. I am, for better or worse, someone who writes. I write because, frankly, I have to. If I don't let the words out, they boil together and build up so much steam and force that I have to release them or risk expressing myself in less civilized ways.
Most of the time, that is a wonderful thing. I make my living as a lawyer using words. My words make people laugh and help bring people together in prayer.
But there are times when my words are such a burden that I am exhausted. Then my words are heavy and sad. They keep me from laughter. They keep me alone. In a very real way, they block my light.
This is nothing new. I wrote my first family newsletter when I was about twelve years old. When the Internet made communication easy and fast, I started writing via e-mail. I was blogging before it was even a word. I didn't get much feedback, or even return e-mails, but I kept doing it.
Even though I write legal stuff all the time, it's not enough. There are way too many words that just never find their way into a Stock Purchase Agreement or an Offering Statement, no matter how interesting the client's business might be. So I write. I can't seem to help it.
Why? The best explanation I can come up with is that writing is like an addiction. I don't do it for the money - there is none. I don't do it for any kind of recognition - are you kidding me? In case you didn't know, my name isn't really Rebecca. Plus, other than the semi-regular comments from my husband (thanks honey) nobody in my entire extended family even comments here, and I can count on less than one hand the number of 'real friends' who do. It used to bother me a great deal. Then I finally figured out that they don't give a shit, and it doesn't matter any way.
Because TLC has a fantastic group of commenters - even without the people who know me in my real life. Which is really amazing. Did you know that some of us have actually become friends from this blog? It's true. And not the creepy kind of stalker friends either - the kinds of friends who talk to each other and help each other.
Once, I wrote a blog on depression, and ended up hearing from people who really needed to read those words. We were able to share our pain and our hope.
But that's the exception. A wonderful, blessed one, but an exception none the less.
I'm not the only one who writes for no payback. There are lots of us. Even the authors who blog here every week could be saving their words for the books they sell. Instead, they hand them out to you for free.
I guess what I want you to know is that, these words are gifts. Gifts from our hearts and minds and souls and energy. They are given freely. You don't have to give anything back. Sometimes, you even get some laughs thrown in as a bonus, or you get a different perspective or you learn something new. Do you understand how incredible that is? To be able to, with a click of a button, receive that kind of a gift for nothing in return? It's extraordinary, and yet we don't even think twice about it.
Today, I want you to think about it.
When I give you my words, please see them for what they are: they are pieces of me.