The writings that were never published

I'm a part-time blogger. VERY part-time, like sometimes I go months without adding anything to my blog. (looks like my personal record for longest dry spell is 18 months).

Blogging, for me, can be kind of like exercise has been at various times in my life. Sometimes hard to commit to staying with it. I need to make a New Year's resolution to blog consistently!

And sometimes I start an entry because I come up with a topic or issue that I want to write about, and then I get into it and decide I don't like the direction I'm going, and I pull the plug on myself. It's always a great idea, of course, and I frequently come up with a couple of super witty lines, but as I get into it, I just can't convince myself that the finished product is going to be worth sharing with you.

Professionally, I'm an editor, and sometimes I have to tell a reporter to not pursue a certain story. Personally, I edit myself, too, and sometimes I tell myself to push the brakes on an idea. Sort of like having a conversation with my wife. Sometimes I tell myself, "No, Phil. Don't go there. Just stop. Move on."

So here, for your amusement, are some left-on-the-keyboard comments from unpublished blog entries. Deep thoughtful remarks that likely mean much less when isolated from the full thoughts they were intended to be surrounded by:

--- Nov. 11, 2019, SAY WHAT? But here I am, at the age of 52. I've had three surgeries in my life, all in the last 10 years, and all three occasions involving the doctor accessing my insides through my mid-section. As a result, my stomach now has so many markings that it resembles a map of the state of Texas. A couple of larger scars on the left side look like the metro areas of Houston and Dallas. In the center is a scar that winds around my belly button. Maybe that's a section of the Colorado River, or one of those large reservoirs that draw the fishermen to the Lone Star State. I think I'll call it my Toledo Bend Reservoir. On the other side of my stomach is another larger spot. That's San Antonio, and in between there are several smaller marks that could be the Texas towns with populations of less than a million. I have a Waco, a Galveston, an El Paso, a Midland and a Lubbock.

--- April 11, 2018, I DON'T CUSS. OK, SOMETIMES I DO: The decision to put these thoughts in writing happened shortly after I went skydiving in July 2016, something I had always wanted to do. As I was stepping out of an airplane from 12,000 feet in the air the thought occurred to me, "I should make a bucket list." No, I'm kidding. I was definitely not thinking that when I stepped out of the plane. My thought was more along the lines of, "What the &%$#! am I doing?"

--- May 29, 2017, NO MORE HIGH SCHOOLERS: But the event DOES serve as sort of closing the book. And I'm feeling a bit nostalgic thinking back to those 13 years for Drew at Blue River Valley. He's been blessed with some awesome friends and great teachers that have created lots of memories.

--- Sept. 1, 2016, CONCERT AND CAMPING: What does Building 429 mean, you ask? It's based on Ephesians 4:29 ("Let no unwholesome words come out of your mouth, but only words used in the building up of others"). Turns out that the band members knew of a church youth group that had a "429 challenge," where youth group members, if they heard another member say something inappropriate or hurtful to someone, were to respond with a "429" reminder. ..... Also, Dawn went camping. Actually slept all night in a tent!!

How big is your mountain, and who is helping you climb it?

I had an "aha" moment the other day while rock climbing, shortly after hitting the ground after my last try on a top rope course.

You need to understand that I'm not an experienced rock climber. I had done it once before, in this same safe, controlled inside facility. So even making it part of the way up the wall was a bit of an accomplishment for me.

And so there I was, about halfway up a 40-foot wall trying to follow a specific route so that my daughter wouldn't call me a wuss, like she had a few minutes earlier. And at that midpoint, I decided I was done. I lost my confidence when I looked for a next foot placement, and I hollered down, "I give up. Ready to come down." I had convinced myself that halfway up was an accomplishment, and that I should be satisfied.

My friends and family -- notably Natalie, who was my belayer -- responded in a way that froze me in my tracks, clinging to the wall. "NOOO! You can't give up now! Just lift that left foot up to the next spot, it's right there. You can do it!"

The encouragement from my group was enough to give me pause, and reconsider my decision. I just held on for a few seconds, catching my breath and letting their words build me up. And then I told them I was going on.

One step, then another. A short pause while eyeing what was left of the wall and the route that could get me there.

And after just a few more minutes, I was at the top, making contact with the very top in a celebratory way. I did it!

So .... that "aha" moment: Somewhere during the process of taking off my harness and turning in my rental equipment, gathering my belongings and walking to the van, I realized the similarities between my journey up the wall, and our journeys through life.

Sometimes in life you feel all alone. Maybe you're not literally hanging on a wall, but you might be stuck in a situation that feels like the mountain of all mountains. Just remember, there's always someone holding that rope for you. There's someone out there who wants to cheer you on. There's family, and there's friends. And even if you feel like you're without friends, or even family, God is with you. Every step of the way.

No matter how skinny that ledge of the mountain is, there's room for God to be right beside you. Even when you feel like you're in the middle of the ocean with no boat, Jesus is your life vest.

Find those friends who can help you reach the highest of heights. Lean on those family members who want to guide you on your journey. And trust that God will be with you every step.

"There's no shadow you won't light up, mountain you won't climb up, coming after me." Reckless Love, by Cory Asbury