It seems so silly; there are millions of people in the world. Why write? Far more people write blogs, I am sure, than are interested in reading them.
Perhaps it is to please our vanity. It is quite possible. If we produce something trite, something witty, we are told we are intelligent. If many like it, we believe we are important. But have we changed hearts? Have people walked away with a benefit to their souls? Or have we sucked them dry, wasted their time, simply to please our vanity?
Surely humility dictates silence. Except, hardly anyone cares about blogs anyway. It does provide a lovely forum to write random things which someone might read, whether anyone reads them or not. When looking simply for writing experience, to increase the ability to communicate, it is quite a beneficial thing.
But why do we care to communicate?
The world is full of questions--so full of questions. We feel this urgency, this sense of right and wrong which would evidently not be so urgent if it were shared by others. And yet because our urgency is individual, it makes us question whether it is legitimate, or whether we should simply live our lives for the buzz like other people. Why can't we ignore the pain of other people? Why can't we be selfish and enjoy our lives without a thought for the starving, or the suffering?
The truth is, hungry eyes and burning hearts haunt us. We are not satisfied simply to eat when their mouths cry for food, and the eyes of children run with hungry tears. It is love. Love and need for love drives us.
Maybe that is why we write, and maybe that is why despite our inadequacy we hope others read what we write, because how can we inspire the world to love, use the talent God gave of a pithy tongue, if we are not read and enjoyed? It is a writer's gift, his or her sword for battle.
Can those who read feel the love, the care the writer has for them? Then perhaps our life has purpose--a simple one. Perhaps others are warmed by our love.
