This is my five-hundredth posting on Between Blue Rocks. Because it is that, I’ve stalled and stalled about what to write, feeling like this one, half-way to a thousand, should be especially significant.
But that’s silly. Each word is weighty, always, however little we perceive it, but if we stall and stall until we find the perfect words, we miss the chance of saying anything at all.
And the chance of saying things: this is a gift.
Yesterday I copied syllabi, and unit schedules, and homework assignments for three different courses, the pages piling and piling. The copier stopped because its hole-punch holder was full, and the office administrator printed a picture of a burning tree to hang beside the copier and remind us of the trees we destroyed.
I’ve been checking and rechecking my online class lists, watching as students added and dropped my courses, reading over the names, looking at the faces — a new feature this year — and eager to meet the people they represent. Tomorrow, I’ll get to do that, and I am glad.
Meanwhile, I wait, making final notes, thinking and rethinking my first words, wondering about classroom dynamics and the willingness of classes full of pre-nursing and business majors to actually read literature.
But there’s this: at eight tomorrow morning, the planning and rethinking will come face-to-face with forty students, and, while it is important to consider what I’m going to say to them, at that moment, it will be most important that I say something.
Because in order to finish a thing, we must first begin it. In order to teach a whole semester’s course, I must speak in that very first class. In order to have written one-thousand blog posts, it will be necessary to have first written five-hundred.
And, in order to share the gospel — a thing we are called to do — it will be necessary to say something, to make a beginning: even if that beginning is blundering, even if the only thing we can think to say is “Hello.”
Here’s to beginning, and to continuing.
©2014 by Stacy Nott