I want to be unique, but I don't want to be alone

I've been thinking about my purpose lately. a lot really. And lately if you count the last few years. I love to write. that's not an exaggeration. I'm trying to limit my use of the word "love" in order for it's importance to shine when I do use it. But in this case, I really do love writing. When I stop writing, something in me stops breathing. It's like I'm under water, holding my breath, trying to sit on the bottom of the pool, and then suddenly I have to kick to the top, frantic. And that first gulp of air that also includes some water up my nose is that first sentence clumsily scrawled on the paper after days of holding it in. So naturally, in this day of books and ebooks and self-publishing and blogging, that little childhood dream of being a writer has surfaced again, and I think "perhaps I could. perhaps I should."

Another voice, insidiously sweet replies, "don't worry about it. someone else out there is already saying what you think and saying it better than you ever could. And her house is clean. Her kids are behaving. Her husband is happy with all that she does. And she works. And blogs. Oh and she blogs about her DIY "attempts" (read successful, spectacular designs), her home-cooked meals, and her heartfelt sentiments. So why bother?" That's the loudest voice.

I see blog after blog, read book after book, hear radio program after radio program. Women, submitting to God in their lives, doing remarkable and wonderful and beautifully painful things and writing about it all. What could I possibly add to that. But I have to breathe.

I hear authors respond to this same dilemma "it may already be said, but no one else can say it with your voice."

hmmm...

I remember in high school and college, desperately demanding that all my friends like the same foods, colors and styles, believe the same doctrines, listen to the same music. I remember despondent "funks" when two of a group would feel differently than I. Suddenly, adrift, uncertain, wondering how we could possibly be friends and what was wrong with me..or them...I recall too those times of solidarity. That sigh of relief that I was not the only girl who'd ever loved Mr. Wrong, changed her major, changed her mind, been a jerk, misunderstood someone, fallen asleep in class.

So I think there's some sort of tension here. A desire to do something that no one else can do, to be needed. to be significant as me. But there is also a desire to not do it alone. To know that someone else understands, has walked or is walking this road too.

today I'm singing Add to the Beauty by Sara Groves. That's what I want to do with each breathe that He gives....I want my redemption to add to the beauty.