See, it wasn't supposed to be this way.
I was supposed to have created this blog and, as a result of my spiritual insight, wisdom, humor and honesty made manifest, been the toast (or at least the English muffin) of Christendom and bloggerdom and dum-de-dum dom.
Yes, I still see it all now...hordes of readers sharing their stories of grace, but always flocking to me for advice, insight; craving whatever pearl of wisdom fell from my full and slightly pouty lips, and I, well, of course *I* would bask humbly in the sunshine of adoration and approval, bask oh-so-humbly, just slathered in humble like a perfectly cooked chicken fried steak coated in crispy golden batter. Phone calls and email from journalists and bookers for talk shows punctuate the background, my wife amazed at her good fortune and blessing in being married to someone like me.
But would I let this go to my head? No, a thousand times no! I would have joined my hands in gentle prayer, looked heavenward beseechingly with my doe-like brown eyes, and humbly asked God for the strength to deal with all this homage and attention.
That was my plan, whether I admitted it to myself or not. "It was all going to be about me, frankly," said the hotdog.
I would have been good at it, too. Really good. I believe I'm good with fame and adulation. In fact, they're my meat and butter, they're like mother's milk to me, minus the icky part about drinking breast milk when I'm 47. Dammit, I would have been great as an idol of millions! People would've liked me, I would've really tried to help them, steer them toward God, toward honesty, just as long as they didn't require anything of me that mattered or cost me from my heart or soul.
I would've made a great Oprah!
And the cap to ll of this? I come back to this blog today to find those who've followed this blog in Blogspot do so no longer.
Ohhhhhh, God! Ohhhhh, God! I'm shaking my head at my raging ego and bloated throat sac of pride and I'm laughing right now. (I think God is, too, or I'm smoked.) I'm such a buffoon! ROLFMAO! I am so arrogant, so puffed with fear and pride and self-centeredness, it's a wonder I don't tilt when I stand up. Rilly.
You want to see grace, God's grace, in action? Here it is. That God should love me enough to shank my pride and yet give me the grace to laugh at my foolishness. That He should allow me to laugh at my own nakedness, yet still clothe me in His love, His grace.
And still more of His grace: That those of you who read this blog, continue to do so, and those of you who encourage me, continue to do so, and those of you who are my friends, continue to be so. That you all would continue alongside me in our trek to New Jerusalem when my head is puffed to the size of a small elephant...well, that's the realest grace of God. Thank you for sharing it with me.
This topic wasn't at all what I set out to write when I sat down here some minutes ago, but I think it's better than what I was going to write about. How often do you get a chance to really laugh at yourself?
So now that my ego's been deflated to a proportionate size for my age and weight, what say we keep on looking for grace?
7 comments:
How do you know people don't read you anymore?
Not that I did. I certainly did not!
Just curious.
Hey, keep at it for me. I just found you from MamaDrama, and my interest is captured. :)
Pru- I know you never read me. If you did, the electronic chip in the back of my skull would begin overheating as tachyon waves propagated through hyperspace, alerting our alien masters of this unhappy confluence, and soon teh black helicopters would begin to follow you.
Sucks to be me, tho. Long before then my head would detonate from the built-up steam, leaving it looking like a watermelon run over by a semi-truck.
Mama- Thank you for the kind words. I plan on keeping on.
Do so.
I too have had profound self-delusions of blogging fame ... it passes. You either give up, or you learn to accept your tiny little niche in the vast bloggiverse and value the handful of readers you do have. Frequent updating does help keep that handful of readers happy!
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At the end of the story he realises it's that work that's actually defined him, but, it's not so bad.
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