Last night, I posted this to twitter and Facebook.

I value my words, my words have value. I value my words, my words have value. If I say it enough, I’ll start to remember to believe it.

This is something that is getting easier to say (some days anyways), but it remains hard for me to take action on.

Over the years, I have internalized a sense of shame that has convinced me that what I am passionate about has no real worth in life. I don’t know where it started, and frankly I don’t care. I’m tired of being ashamed.

On New Years day, I wrote about moving on with our history in tow rather than trying to restart and make everything perfect. These words matter to me because I want to value my history, it has what has led me here. My past is the who, what, where, when, how, and why of my story. No it’s not my whole story; that is still in progress. However, all my yesterdays are mine, and they matter.

My story matters. My identity matters. What I choose to do with my story, with my life, matters.

I am choosing to write. I am choosing to write creative non-fiction about (to steal borrow words from my friend Andi) pushing hard at the edges of what it means to be an artist, a Christian, and a human. I write about theology. I write about my insecurities. I write about the goodness of creativity. I want to write about the adventures in finding my self, of being a father, a husband, a friend.

My history, my past, my experiences, my ideas, my needs, my questions… these are the seeds of my writing. These things matter; the words that bloom from my soil have value.

It’s time to act like it.

I’ve talked for years about a book I want to write. I’ve asked people if they would read it when it’s finished. I’ve talked about the outline and structure over coffee and beer. I have spent days day dreaming about having it complete, and what my next project would be… but I’ve actually only written a few paragraphs of the manuscript.

I love my blog. I want the comments to be a place of conversation and push back. I imagine finding my tribe here, the place I belong and the people I belong to. I’ve made some fantastic connections, talked about hosting some guest posts here, and guest posting else where. Yet, despite all the talk and my love of writing, my blog sits sans new posts most weeks.

I’m tired of failing because of my shame.

This month, I’m actually getting professional coaching in my writer life from Andi Cumbo. I won a contest, and have this great chance to get my ass kicked and get my writer self in gear, to write more, to write better, to really start and finish my book, to value my words in action not just in lofty talk.
I am writing and it feels good.

Funny thing about life: when you step forward, you usually encounter resistance.

Yesterday, my computer died. One too many cups of various liquids found its way under the key board, and the machine gave up the ghost. Right now, I’m writing from my fancy little android phone. I’ll be honest, it’s doable to write posts and books from this touchscreen, but this is a makeshift tool for the job of writing.

I want to keep writing, and I want you to keep reading. No matter what way the winds blow, I will try to value my words with action. So now, I am doing something hard for me and the sense of shame I am wrestling with: I’m asking for help.

I would like to get a new computer, but it’s not in our budget. So I am asking you my readers, my community, would you be willing to help me raise enough money to buy a new computer?

That is a hard set of words to type. Truth is, I’m going to find a way to continue writing. I value my words too much to just quit. Having the right tools for the job would be helpful though.

If you choose to help me raise the funds, I say thank you in advance. If you continue reading, I say thank you.

This is me learning to value my words, my history, my self. This is why I write.


If you want to help me raise money for a new writing computer, you can click here and donate to my paypal account. Thank you.