Seeing God's Hand

For the last day or so, I’ve tossed around ideas for what to write this week. Surely there’s something witty or useful or profound that will thrill you, the reader, and alter your life’s course, and I should be writing that down. So I start, and I stop, and I bang my head on my desk, and I pace the room and drink coffee, hoping that something will come to mind.

Naturally, this indecisiveness simply stems from the goodness of my heart. I want to be profound for the readers! I want to help them with their difficult life choices! I want to cheer them on their way! But when I think about it, I realize that my main problem has little to do with some philanthropic desire for the reader's well being, and it is not simply writer’s block.

I am scared to fail. I am afraid that I will pour out my heart and thoughts to you, but it won’t make an iota of difference to you. There’s a blinding fear that what I write will not matter. And even worse, there’s that nagging feeling that what I do in my life, ultimately, will not matter.

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