Pause. Stop. Eject. Insert. Play.

Without wanting to make a song and a dance about it and after a very, very, long spell of absence, I am tentatively returning to the practice of blogging, not really sure of what I can expect from the experience. My reasons for doing so are mixed and my ambivalence is tangible which is why I am so thankful for the words of another blogger’s that I read this morning. After many years of receiving the London Institute of Contemporary Christianity’s (LICC) emails, my faithfulness in reading the content has dwindled considerably in recent times. It was therefore a rare moment for me to be skimming the most recent email which commented on last week’s tragic events in Westminster. Something led me to click on the author’s link and I found myself reading a few of her posts, resonating with her story and remembering how I had been in a similar life stage, over a decade ago when I started writing an online blog myself. An English literature undergraduate at Cambridge university and fellow lover of Yahweh I noticed myself smile and empathise with some of her musings, remembering how I too had been an undergraduate student when I started writing. I was left wondering could it be the right time to play with words again?

Truthfully in recent years I have been concerned that for me, writing a blog would prove too self-indulgent and even border on narcissism. In the age of the ‘selfie’, the Instagram account and social media gone a bit wild, I have found myself considering it to be rather self-obsessive to write about one’s experiences and views of the world, week after week with the expectation that people might actually read them. The funny thing is, as I looked through my old posts, dating back to the Autumn of 2006, I was humbled and warmed by the comments of my friends and loved ones. Each time I cringed through a post that seemed so very, well cringe-worthy, I’d find a comment from a friend, willing me on to continue writing and sharing the moments of my life with me. If anything, I was reminded of my thought processes all those years back and how much I learnt about myself, particularly through my year out of medical school. It was sometimes reassuring to confirm with myself that I had in fact used my mind to explore the complexities of life, albeit to the limit of my own ability.

As the years go by, I notice how oftentimes when I review another year gone by, I evaluate the external circumstances and situations, triumphs and failings, fulfilled dreams and disappointments and while this can be helpful, it can also be challenging, harsh and too concrete to appreciate the true value of time spent living. This is especially true, when you have a tendency to be self-critical. This morning I realised that reading through your own past thoughts, firing spontaneously and freely, without fear of analysis or measurement is a wholly different experience to the usual evaluation of the past I choose to engage in. Instead of being able to tick or not tick those virtual boxes I have created or having the physical evidence of what I have achieved (or not achieved) at the end of a year; the written word opens up a completely new, forgiving and gracious (most of the time) memory of the past. I for one know I need more grace in my life and especially more grace towards myself so it’s with this approach in mind, that I am choosing to attempt to put words down again, in a very different phase of life to the last one I documented in this way. Here’s to hoping that when I read back what I’ll have written in ten years, they’ll be less cringe moments, perhaps because I’ll be reading through eyes that have been touched by grace, a little bit more.