Excuses, Insecurity, and Disclaimers

Prologue:

 I suppose I am not the only one who writes, that has times of simply writing thoughts down for the simple pleasure of writing; like a bird let out of a cage. Thoughts tumble and bounce out, aligning themselves into words on a page or screen. Sometimes, their landing is sandwiched between a couple other thoughts, and  hardly relate to the subject matter.

 People that read books talk about, “light reading” simply for relaxation. Well maybe that is similar to what I have written here. I thought about just filing it away in the cloud somewhere, but then thought to let you all read it for whatever it is worth. It’s a bit rambling and random; through it you will see threads of self-depreciation, self-doubt, excuses and abstract humor. Do not read too deep into it, take it at face value. I am not asking for sympathy or complements, after all I would not have to write, and subject myself to the possibility of scrutiny, criticism, and ridicule. Maybe you will see your own reflection in the words of this writing. So, yours truly, here it is!

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I read over my last blog and was reminded that a blogger doesn’t necessarily mean he or she is a “Skilled Writer.” For me personally, it seems the word “Writer” should be spelled, “VULNERABLE.” I call a writer, someone who diagrams sentences and knows the name of each part, which was something I used to know back in grade school. I am perfectly capable of planting words on a page, well actually more than one page, without too much effort.

I take a little comfort that I know there is more than one way to say something. I also have enough experience with editing other people’s writing, to understand there are many ways, both long and short, to say the same thing. I then realized, that I could save myself some editing, if I allowed them to tell their story in their own words, rather than me telling their story in my words.

I cannot help but feel vulnerable when I imagine all the schoolteachers and English grammar gurus scrutinizing what I have written. If you had told me back when I was in school that one day I would write words for more than just me and the teacher to read, well, I would not have believed you, or would have applied my self to improvements fitting that behavior. That being said, I had an idea to write a book, so I wrote a few stories and my sister put them together, complete with a pictured cover. I still remember the name, “Stories To Be Remembered.” There it was in all its glory; all three stories, written by my own hand. Now, I don’t remember if my sister typed it up or not. I would like to get my hands on it to see what I wrote, but alas it has been lost, without ever being published. 

Back in my beginnings there were books, newspapers and some magazines that arrived at our, “inbox” which happened to be at the end of our long drive way. We had to walk, ride a bike or stop the car to get to our “inbox.” A letter would arrive, hand written or typed on a typewriter, whiteout and all. Back then a blog, may have been interpreted as a misspelling of bog, or dog or another word in another language. So, the thought of writing a blog would have been foreign indeed. Now I can check my “inbox” or check my blog, without getting out of bed in the morning, which is something I entirely fail to practice! 

Recently I had someone tell me they read my blog and that His wife was on some writing group. I instinctively flinched while fighting the impulse to run for cover. I assured him that the name of my blog was excuse enough and it was not associated with those writing groups that critique writing skills. Okay, I appreciated the conversation, but I ask for mercy from the writing groups.

I suppose as time and years pass, which I cannot imagine continuing to write for that long, I may no longer be able to say that I am not a writer. I may think that, and I plan on thinking that, but others may think differently. If after all that experience and I still write atrociously, well then, my excuse will not hold much water, and I believe, “Writer” may still be spelled, “VULNERABLE.”

Now it used to be that a writer took a fowl feather, dipped it in the well, and with beautiful strokes created a work of art with his writing. I also am able to write, but there is little resemblance to art and beauty. While barely legible to me, it is much less decipherable to someone else. I have not all together abandoned print and script; it is less convenient because my pen does not include spellcheck.

Just think about all the words and numbers scrunched up inside those pens and pencils just waiting to run out on the page behind your hand. Also, the hungry paper waiting to have himself filled with all those delicious recipes, and notes that can satisfy the hungry tummy and soul.

After living in Russia for a few years, someone there commented, “Well the Russian language is difficult to learn. Three years is not long enough.” And I sigh in relief that I was let off the hook for not being able to speak fluently. It was partly a social pass to not reflect on my abilities, or rather my lack of it. However, if I had lived there ten years like one missionary from another church I heard about, and still did not have a grip on the language, I would have to have a pretty good alibi to continue with positive social grace.

Some humans have this thing of speaking derogatory of themselves or their accomplishments, in order to manipulate people to fill their need of praise and security. Mostly this proves successful, although it leaves one wondering if they were just patting your back in flattery or if it was the honest truth. The former seems to be the suspicion, while the mind puts hope in the latter.

For God, He needed no excuse, or bearing up; quite the opposite is true. Over and again He says in Genesis chapter one; when He looked at what He had created, it was very good! He was pleased, and satisfied with what He had made.

Now that was a long lingo.

How many times have you heard someone say, “I really shouldn’t say this.” And proceed to tell you what they knew they shouldn’t really say.  Somehow, they rest in the fact that now you know, they know they shouldn’t say it, and that somehow gives them permission. Of course when they say that, your ears perk up and you begin to wonder how special you are to be taken into their confidence which such inside stories. Most often what they have to say, is less than complementary, and does you or the one spoken about much good.

It’s strange how the human mind works down these lines. I have done the same thing, spoken something I should have kept silent about.

In this northern location of the southern states where I reside, there is this thing about saying, “bless his heart” which seems to give legality to whatever comments you want to make about their best friend’s neighbor, who by all appearances tends to think differently than they do. Or for that matter, it could be someone who they go to church with. I have no idea what blessing someone before talking less than complementary, has to do with anything. Maybe it’s southern graces? At any rate it doesn’t speak so complementary for the bearer of such woeful tidings either. Makes me wonder what “bless is heart” is said the next time my name crosses their radar. I can just imagine the next meeting in the grocery isle.  “Did you read his last blog post? Bless is heart! I shouldn’t say it, but he just doesn’t have it together! And His grammar!” eyes roll, “You should see it! Bless his heart! He should go back to school! Bless his heart!” Meanwhile, the words bounce lightly off their eggs, milk, and produce; then  heads wag in understanding, while the wheels on the cart thump and squeak their revolutions towards the check out. Most of the shoppers keep on shopping without noticing, however one wiser individual is already franticly swiping their smartphone screen to behold it with their own eyes.

You know, humans love a nice thick juicy steak of drama. What if you would fill the News with heroes who carried groceries to the car, held open the door, fixed a flat, gave people the benefit of the doubt, spoke complementary things, and mowed someone’s lawn for free? I’m afraid our news would almost cease to exist, while on the other hand, our minds would have a chance at pure clean existence.

I think you get the point. We excuse ourselves with some pretty lame excuses, and buying them at the expense of our friends and associates. They know you could have gotten up a bit earlier, read the Sunday School lesson, and left a little earlier for your appointment. Somehow, we want others to think better of us by assuming a roll that we are less competent than they think. In simpler language, we are not very smart, and are incapable of learning and doing better. It would make a poor job resume, and could hurt our feelings if they agreed with us.

I was riding to church in the morning with my friend and his brother. It seemed like being late for church was a bit of a lame excuse for the visiting officer. And we failed to get there any sooner because of the roadside visit.

And then there are those excuses the cook makes, for the perfectly tasty dish. “Well, I think it was a little better last time, I don’t know what happened to it.” Or, “I have never made this before, or, I ran out of sour cream and had to substitute.” Write all know the drill. The dish is perfectly tasty and pristine. I expect it has to do with insecurity issues.

When my brother and I were little we got accidentally left at home. This was discovered at the prayer before supper, when my parents looked at my uncles, and my uncles looked back. The realization dawning that each assumed we came with the other. In the mean time, my brother and I were chugging our way on foot towards the waiting supper at the neighbors. The blue Ford LTD picked us up, with my uncle at the wheel.  Our disappearance at the appointed time for departure, had to do with our interest in what our renter was up to, while waiting for our family to motor over to the neighbors.

Arriving at last at the supper table, which by this time may also have needed an excuse, the reasons and disclaimers freely flowed, as to why we got left at home. The real solution to the dilemma surfaced when my little brother pipes up and says, “You shudda checked!” Like that was the most obvious reason we got left. Of course, that comment has never been forgotten, and been regaled over and over.

We not only offer excuses to people, but the Lord as well. We are only fooling ourselves if we think the Lord cannot see through them. On that last great day there will be more than a few, as to why people were not ready. However, it will be too late and no social pass. Today is the day of Grace and opportunity. No excuse, make use of it, so one day there will be no need for an excuse.

The Unlikely Writer – Jeff Goertzen

May 2, 2023