I was all set to write something else this morning (and probably will, in another post). But I got sidetracked when I looked at my dashboard and saw that this would be the 800th post I’ve put up on Losing My Religion.
That’s a lot of blogging. (Instead of doing something else.) A lot of time on the computer.
Admittedly, the first 500 posts came a lot more quickly than the last 300. When I started this blog 7 years ago, I was in the throes of my deconstruction from institutional church–a house church pastor just coming out of a painful love-hate relationship with the institution, with a whole lot to say, and a lot of time on my hands. One of my friends told me he actually liked my blog, but he couldn’t keep up with how much I was writing.
I believed him. I was writing a lot. In fact, during the lull in activity in which this blog was formed, Losing My Religion became my primary outlet of ministry for awhile. I found myself alienated from other platforms of ministry, and was exhausted from failed attempts to get past people’s complacency and get them involved and what we were doing. For awhile, all I had in front of me to do (besides teach my home congregation of 17 people once a week) was to process my thoughts here.
I started this blog with the intention of writing a book, thinking the blogging platform could be a good practice pad to get me into the writing flow and help me make my thoughts cohesive. Instead, this blog essentially became my book.
It was actually a really good thing for me to do, in so many ways. It helped me process a lot of pain, helped me to get better. And even though a book didn’t come out of it, blogging did sharpen my skills and gave me some tools to begin a “tentmaking” trade of freelance writing when our family moved into a new season–a trade that continues to sustain us today.
There’s something else, too. In feeling so alienated from the institution at the time I started the blog, I was on a quest to see what the practice of faith and ministry looked like outside those walls. Interacting with the blogosphere introduced me to a whole community of disenfranchised people that I never knew existed because I’d been so entrenched within the “bubble.” I made lots of new friends from around the world (and a few enemies, too, but that’s another story), and these friends inspired me, encouraged me, and made my journey feel not quite as lonely. Through the comments, there was instant feedback, dialogue and discussion. I needed that, too. That wouldn’t have happened had I simply put my thoughts into book form. With books, there’s too much of a separation between the writer and the reader. With a blog, people can interact.
Seasons have changed. More and more of my blogger friends began putting their blogs on hiatus and moving into other things. It wasn’t anything bad; it was just like we’d collectively said what needed to be said. My own wellspring of thoughts and emotions on this subject began to ebb as I came to grips with what was happening with me. I got busy, too; I found less time to write here, and when I did have the time, I found myself struggling to find things to say. These days, the flood of blog posts here is now a trickle, and only a few readers are left. And that’s okay, because to everything there is a season.
I still have a few things to say now and then, which is why I’ve kept the blog active. And every once in awhile I hear from someone new who just found the blog for the first time and is scouring through the posts–so it seems like my ramblings here about my journey are still finding a point of resonance with some folks. That’s awesome.
Meanwhile, through the trickle of posts, I keep hinting at something new on the horizon. Trust me, it’s coming, and you’ll be the first to know. (Well, not actually the first…but you know what I mean.)
For now, though–here’s to 7 years and 800 posts. We’ll see how many more come forth before we’re done. Thanks for reading. Thanks for being here.