For the last few months, my life and faith have been a rollercoaster. This crisis of faith is the worst thing I’ve ever faced, and it’s not getting any better. I’ve been swinging from faith to faithlessness, hope to despair, and joy to tears and back again, all with the rapidity of the changing weather.
What’s more, my blog may be making things worse.
When I started Ex-Narnian, it ended up being one of the best things to ever happen to me. I found a place where I could express my thoughts and feelings without regret. After wearing out my family and friends for years, and after watching my handwritten journal turn into an echo chamber, I could finally sort things out without worrying about wasting people’s time, getting into a bitter argument, or watching my thoughts and feelings turn into a feedback loop.
That’s not how it is anymore. In fact, Ex-Narnian is suffering from the problems I’ve tried to avoid. Instead of helping me work through things, it’s throwing them back in my face. Instead of bringing me calm, my own words are adding to the confusion.
Plus, I’m worried it’s taking you on the emotional rollercoaster that is my crisis of faith. Writing posts is not only emotional and time-consuming, but a weighty responsibility; my words affect the people who read them, and they certainly affect me. I don’t want to worry about that, not when I have bigger worries to confront.
Finally, this blog has turned into a comfort zone, and not the kind I need. The Likes, comments and views are becoming more important than sorting things out. Obviously, I want to sort things out, but I need to do it without being motivated by views and feedback. (That’s why I’m deactivating the Likes, sharing buttons and comment box for this post—so I’m not tempted to log in and see how this post is doing.)
I’m not sure when I’ll come back on the grid, but I’m not in any rush. I want to reach the point where Ex-Narnian is a joy, not a burden. Besides, running this blog makes me feel the urgency to sort out my faith as soon as possible, and all that’s done is impede my progress. Matters of the heart need time, not a timetable.
Before I sign off, I want you to know one thing and run with it: I’m well, I’m hanging in there—and most of all, because of this hiatus on which I’m about to embark, I’m optimistic.
I’ll see you when I see you.