Just over ten years ago, I set up a Blogger profile and started my first post like this:
“So by the inspiration of the wonderful Michele Monk, I am going to periodically bare parts of my soul on a blog, offering honest restatements of the reflections I do in prayer -- both to more firmly grasp what God is leading me to and to share thoughts with others that may need to hear them for inspiration or fellowship.”So first off, thanks, Michele, and my ol’ Folk Choir Emmaus faith-sharing group, for seeding what’s become ten years of fairly steady writing. Turns out theology and ministry are a pretty serious thing for me, and this all sort of started as we were all circled up in the family room of Jess’ Campus Ministry intern house. (Though, I don’t know that the idealistic way I introduced this blogging ministry would closely describe all that it became.)
I learned pretty early on that this kind of writing has to be for its own sake. As appealing and alluring as page-clicks and analytic stats can be, if something is going to be pastoral, it has to be actually pastoral. I started writing to externally process and offer thoughts openly to folks who are looking for something to chew on. Temptation to contrive something more widely appealing or even to trivially pursue “going viral” always lurk. Most of the time, I’ve been able to kick that aside.
The thing that always kept me going, even when the gaps between posts would grow longer, was the affirmations -- I didn’t write just to receive them, but it ignited my reflection to know there were partners in that spiritual dialogue. Likes and comments were one thing, but the random comments from friends I’d run into at mutual friends’ weddings, from family members who saw Facebook links and clicked to read, and more -- they always surprised me and nudged me to move forward. In ministry, I think that you strive for faithfulness, not success, to do earnest, quality work for whoever engages with it rather than needing to draw big numbers. These comments, even if occasional and sparse, were the fuel in my tank. Thank you to all of you who ever gave me a pat on the back or offered thoughtful feedback to something I wrote.
Building on all of your encouragement, I tried to find a voice, moving on from the Catholic Disney World of Notre Dame and the engagement of undergraduate theology studies into an adult lived faith and a professional ministry career. My intention was always to write in a way that acknowledged and embraced my academic background but never to write as an academic -- and I don’t think academics would mistake my posts for that! I always wanted to write like a friend sitting at the table with you, trying to have an earnest conversation about living a life of faith.
In this vein, I tried to invite people into the conversation. I dragged many of you into liking another Facebook Page. I invited many of you to write guest posts as part of “the72.” Approaching the 2016 election, I wanted to brighten the spotlight on Catholic Social Teaching and tried to form our voter-consciences with #MoreThanRedAndBlue. And, of course, some of the more foolish among us even joined the crew during the years that this blog became “The Restless Hearts.” To all of you who have contributed to the blog, you wrote and shared amazing things.
But along the way, the road isn’t always smooth. Back in 2010, I tried to build on my first six months of blogging by writing a short book, capturing the spiritual essence of my posts in a deeper dive into what a 21-year-old’s spirituality looked like. Then, when I opened my computer to write during a five-hour train ride from London to Edinburgh, I saw a blank grey screen with a flashing question-mark folder. My hard drive, which I hadn’t backed up in six weeks, crashed, and took my 50-page first draft with it. Many hours of writing that I had done up and down the UK disappeared, and I wondered if in trying to write a book I had attempted a fool’s errand. I decided to keep writing, and I’m glad I did. Further confirmation came at my college graduation party -- my best friend got all the posts I had written so far published in a one-off hard-cover book. And in response to my doubts about writing and losing my book, he told me, “You’ve already written one.” Thank you, Tim.
As I’ve gotten older, I’ve been strongly drawn to the opportunity to give talks and engage with an audience more deeply on a topic. Even beyond posting a piece, at a talk, you get to then do some Q&A and have live, immediate conversation on the topic with people. In 2016, I got to give four talks about #MoreThanRedAndBlue that were a lot of fun -- nice crowds of like 15-25 people who were great listeners, laughed at a few dumb jokes, and asked great questions and gave great input. Then a funny thing happened -- even as I tried to network, cold email people, or look around, I couldn’t get another talk booked anywhere. Zero in 2017. Zero in 2018. Again, I doubted whether I should pursue it at all. Then in 2019, I got two unsolicited invitations and gave two new talks to two new great little groups. It was a definite opportunity to become regrounded. Fidelity not success. Doing good work with the opportunities that present themselves. It reinforced that when I welcome the work that comes before me that I do my best work and have the best faithful engagements with people.
In a few waves, I decided to invite other writers on to a newly formed Restless Hearts team. I remained the lead for the blog and tried to guide our group in setting a schedule, reviewing posts with group feedback, and even trying our hand at writing in series. At some points, I think our work became wonderfully cohesive and more potent and polished for our collegiality. At other times, I think my reticence to push too much structure or excessive expectations on the team made us a bit lax. Luckily, the quality of the people led to great pieces, and the blog archives are home to a bevy of fine work by a group of six wonderfully talented writers and people of faith. To Jenny, Rob, Dave, Laura, Erin, and Tim, I know I was a thoroughly imperfect, spotty editor and team lead, but I have a lot of gratitude for your work, appreciation for your respect and teamwork, and admiration for your humility and wisdom.
Finally, the last two and a half years, including the birth of my second child this September, have challenged my time management more than any other part of my life. High school extracurriculars, undergrad studies and social life, full-time jobs, and part-time grad work never quite challenged my handle on my time the way marriage and family life have. Whereas in these other eras, I was just managing tasks and time outlays, marriage and family life are instead a life change, a complete reframing of the question and the answer. They can’t and don’t have finite time frames attached to them. Instead, building and sustaining a strong marriage and attentively and lovingly raising kids are 24/7/365 attitudes that invite and require constant communication and focus. The suffusive energy a good father and husband needs to have necessarily changes the whole equation of whatever “time management” may have previously involved. As such, I continue writing, but I can’t insist upon the sorts of steadiness and structure I might have previously sought. And that’s a blessing I’ve wrestled with and have come to appreciate.
So, ten years in, it altogether points me to stay grounded. And write when I have something to write.
First and foremost, my work in pastoral ministry, both in everyday life and at my computer, has taught me to sprinkle in a little initiative but to mostly take it as it comes. The various projects and new ideas I’ve pursued and tried have all been fun and instructive in their own ways. I’ll keep trying to be creative here and there, but I’m not going to press. I’m a writer and minister, not an entrepreneur; I’m an offer-er, not a self-promoter. Faithfulness comes in surrender, in humble acceptance of God’s will. That’s gotta be the operative attitude.
In different, small ways, I’ve been blessed to share my writing on wider scales, and to realize some hopes and desires in reaching and engaging wider audiences. I’m grateful to have written at a handful of places, most recently at Grotto Network, where I’ve matched with an impeccable editor and get the chance to contribute bits of pre-evangelization to a robust and prophetic online ministry. I was delighted to make a modest presentation at a national conference this past spring where I connected with some great campus ministers from across the country, and now I may yet have another chance to write a book that’s very much worth writing (stay tuned!). But the common element to each of these joys is that they came with little agitation or consternation on my part, but, rather, gentle outreach -- taking connections as they came and trying to do modest, humble work with the great people before me.
That’s where ten years of writing has brought me. I hope these are the ideals that fuel the next ten years of writing, and that years 11-20 have more, new lessons to bring as well.
Most importantly, thanks for catching on at some point during these past ten years. Please keep walking with me and sharing your thoughts when you can. Our dialogue is what carries me forward.
