I worked on an eBlast today for someone. It is the first time that I asserted my ... expertise ... in communication. For a long while, I merely set them up. Then, I started editing the intros. Then, somehow, I found myself writing them. For me, that's pressure. Pressure leads to all bits and pieces of me breaking down.
And then, today, the info article for this month was so very ... bad ... that I decided to write an entire message, based on a blogging trend, on the idea of being thankful, and on news she had. I also chose an image to use instead of the info sheet. Nerves awrackin' I showed my work and, after changing the image from what I liked to what she liked and some live edits as I was reading aloud, I set the eBlast up for delivery.
[Tell me ... who would chose this
over this?]
Ah, but I digress.
It is one thing to just be the technician on a communications project like this. It is another to be the architect. Will her open rate increase or decrease? I'd be happy for staying even, but the part of me who basically asked someone to trust me as a writer wants that trust to be rewarded. Yes, I want to have success, but more so I want for her to have success despite that fact that I said: "Do this!"
When did I become so very, very timid of the written word? This. This is what I have always been able to do. Wield words with skill. A craft honed since I was little. Yet the certitude I had about at least being able to wield a good pen, a solid pen, is all but completely disappeared.
Next week is a tough week to send out eBlasts, since many will have their minds more on the holiday than anything else. Of course, until yesterday—or was the the day before??—I did not know that it was already Thanksgiving. So lost to time I am.
Next week is a tough week and so open rates might be poor no matter if the writing and presentation was brilliant or bunk. Really, if ever there was a time to query the effect of taking direction of a communications endeavor this is not it. Yet we both agreed that the info sheet was not anywhere near the quality of the others nor any real value.
I will admit that I loathe blogging trends. Do this for 30 days. Write this for 100 days. Ensure every post has X amount of words. A part of me is ... proud ... maybe ... that I have been keeping my online journal before most of the world even knew what a blog was. I was journaling back when your post would appear in the rolling updates on Blogger's Home Page. I wasn't blogging. I was journaling, a craft pursued for as long, surely, as the written word. Or almost as long.
However, I have noted a trend of late that gave me pause for thought and helped me create a message that could replace the terrible info sheet. Happy Things.
Happy Things.
Ugh.
Schtick.
I thought about the movie Giving Forward and that whole trend. I thought about how much I dislike that the only real emphasis on giving thanks in our society centers around a holiday that is now inextricably linked to all the consumerism that has replaced the meaning of Christmas. I do not claim to know why it is that our government decided we should pause one day a year and be thankful for what we have. Yet I doubt those forefathers envisioned a time of gluttony (says the glutton) and greed.
Thankfully (pun intended), we no longer dress our children up in paper pilgrim hats and paper headdresses to celebrate Thanksgiving. I have written here before about my opinion and rather strong feelings that we have yet to honor or care for those whose land we absconded for our own purposes. Native Americans are still being mistreated and are still maligned. They are still facing the consequences of first boat of Europeans landing on American shores. Humans are so very good at mistreating each other.
Now, I am not saying it is not a good thing to stop and give thanks. But I wonder what meaning remains in the holiday that has been warped so by our materialism. Giving thanks is a trend this time of year, even a blogging trend ... blog some sort of thanks each day of November. A trend.
A trend.
A general direction in which something is changing.
Changing from what? To what?
A trend.
The trend of Christmas is surely changing. And not for the better.
So, this current blogging trend I have noted: Happy Things. Write about something that makes you happy. At first, I admit, I rolled my eyes. A lot. And then I started to think about the word happy.
Happy.
Feeling or showing pleasure or contentment.
Happy.
When Paul writes that he is content in all circumstances, that is important. Not that he wanted all that he faced to happen. Seriously, who wants to be in prison? Happiness is not about wants, but contentment, and in Christ, one can actually really and truly be content in prison.
In Christ.
So, this idea of sharing things that make you happy is intriguing to me. Sharing such things can be—in my opinion—more revealing than saying what you give thanks for. Perhaps that is because I cannot see someone announcing she gives thanks for knitting needles, but I can see someone holding them up as a happy thing in her life. Or a pastry blender, because making pies can lead to happy times with others. Would you give thanks for a pastry blender when your turn for sharing came round at the Thanksgiving table?
Then I think about the beatitudes. They have been translated blessed are and happy are. Strange, really, given how we use the word happy today. Happiness implies all sorts of good feelings, joy and laughter. Yet that is not necessarily contentment. I think this, believe this, because in the midst of great anguish, when my heart is rent and all seems lost, read me the Psalter and contentment fills me ... sustains me.
In the midst of writhing from innards misery, I can list happy things that make me content in that circumstance: my puppy dog, the thick bathmat, the paint on the walls, the vintage tub, the new sink.
I have, often, been asked how it is that I am not angry at God. Mostly, I think that is a silly question. God is not the author of evil; He did not create me for sin to ravage. We live in a fallen world because of the wicked, perverse will of the devil and of man, not God. In the latest snippet from the Christian Book of Concord teaches this.
As I have written, I do not want the life I have now. Not at all. Well, maybe the life in this house and with my puppy dog, but nothing else. Not the failing of my mind and body. Not the anxiety and anguish. Not the lack of work. Not the uncertainty. Not the worry.
But. But this life I live has taught me the power and efficacy of the Living Word. And this life I live has taught me to savor the happy things in my life.
Daily.
Hourly.
Moment by moment.
There is not a place in my beautiful dream home where I can cast my eye and not be reminded to pray for someone and not be able to note a happy thing. I mean, these days, when I am lying on the kitchen floor, waiting for the food and glucose tablets I shoved hand over fist into my mouth to take effect, I look at the hummingbirds on the wall and I am content in that moment, for the good gifts of the artist, the manufacturer, and the funds to help hang the wall paper. It is impossible, for me that is, to be wholly and completely miserable when surrounded by beautiful hummingbirds, which are a reminder of the complex and beautiful craftsmanship of our Creator and a reminder of the gift of Caryl's friendship from which many of the gifts of mercy shared was the knowledge of how to attract live, GREEN hummingbirds to my own yards. Hummingbirds that come visit and keep me company and in awe of the good gifts of creation whilst sitting on the back steps waiting on my puppy dog. No matter how I feel, no matter what battle is going on in my mind, in the moment when a hummingbird hangs in front of my face, wings thrumming so loud as to drown out the entire world, I am also, at that moment, happy. Content. Thankful.
Would that it were a continual acknowledgement of the happy things in our lives and of the giving of thanks for all that we receive were the norm, rather than a trend around a holiday.
Sometimes, I am blinded by how much worse I am because of what has befallen me. But I am also better. I am better because of what has befallen me. Before I would have noted the rainbows on my wall from the sunlight coming through beveled glass or the glow emanating from the sunset filtered through the stained glass window. But I would not have reveled in them. I would not have cherished them. And I would not have given thanks continually for them, for the gifts they are for me.
Hey, look at that! Perhaps the eBlast I wrote today was for no one other than myself. A reminder of the things I sometimes forget, of the good our Triune God has worked in the darkness.
Odd that. On my list of happy things surely darkness would have its place.
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief!
No comments:
Post a Comment