My oldest son will be attending a cycling camp next week. Nope, I didn’t know there was such a thing either! He, along with (and because of) his daddy, is an avid cyclist. As in bicycles. And spandex. Riding for miles (and hours) on two wheels and a little bitty seat.
Yeah, like Lance. As in Armstrong (though around here, his last name is unnecessary, you know like Madonna or Cher).
Well, my boy is a pretty strong rider, at least among his peloton of 30-something (plus) year old men. This camp will no doubt prove to be a barometer of sorts, measuring his ability versus riders of his own age. Maybe he has true skills, maybe he doesn’t. Either way, it will be a true test of how hard he wants (and needs) to work to improve.
I really, really hope it’s not, but it may turn out to be a humbling experience, revealing his own ordinariness despite his dreams of being something more. (and if so? May he be inspired to work all the harder!)
I was thinking the other day (too much, you’re right) about how blogging has done the exact same thing for me. As I approach the two year mark in my blogging career in a couple of months, I find myself pondering the why’s and the wherefore’s of my blogging. As I venture out in the world wide web, I find a vast number of incredibly talented, amazingly gifted writers. I see my own ordinariness and I am humbled.
My introspection prompts me to wonder why I blog. When I began, it was a hobby, a challenge of sorts to see if I had anything to say as well as the words to say it. In my very first post, I stated that “I am not so interested in a great readership nor large comment counts, rather that these words of mine may somehow encourage others and thereby exalt the Lord Jesus Christ. “
So I wrote. I told my stories and chronicled a considerable number of words. Then, from goodness-knows-where, came a comment. Suddenly, this blogging deal became a little more complicated and I became a little more insecure as I measured comment counts and sitemeter hits.
My fellow bloggers would have to agree: sometimes–and maybe only some times–we live and die by our comment count.
I was talking on the phone the other day with a fellow blogger, one of those gifted and talented writers I deeply respect and admire (I, on the other hand, was so self conscious I could’ve died). She and I were discussing branding in blogging, the challenges of developing a base and increasing readership, and whether or not those were goals we wanted to pursue.
I confessed to her that I really didn’t know where I belong in this big blog world. I write about my children, but only occasionally, so I don’t think I qualify for the mommy blogger circle. I’m no theologian and do not aspire to engage in rich theological
debates discussions (though I do love to lurk…and learn). I don’t do crafts nor cook; I’m not funny and fashion is only a necessity and not a hobby.
Is there a category for humble, ordinary women just trying to live for the glory of God in the middle of the mess of their lives? If yes, then that’s me, the ordinary clay pot blogger who longs to reveal the Treasure within–with her life, and with her words.