It doesn’t have to be pretty. Just do it.

I studied biblical Hebrew for five years in seminary, but I couldn’t seem to get the knack of it. Hebrew translation always felt mathematical. I ran every word through various parts-of-speech formulas before setting them together to understand a sentence. 

Translation in this way took for-hev-er and felt disjointed. It didn’t matter how much I had studied. Hebrew, to me, was foreign and unapproachable. 

So, as a gift to myself, I packed up and moved to Jerusalem for four months to study Modern Hebrew in an immersive setting. It’s not exactly the same as Biblical Hebrew, but it’s close enough to bridge the gap between robot and human. I figured I could at least land somewhere in between. 

The first month was the worst (it was all pretty hard). All students were required to speak as we learned. So WAY before I actually knew how to reply to my teacher, like the first day of class, I’m being forced to SPEAK! I was trying to splice words together and make sentences. My tongue felt thick and heavy. My brain hurt at the end of each eight-hour day. I was humiliated, because I probably sounded like a toddler and sweated through every lesson. 

Every day was the same. Eight hours of baby talk, teacher speaking to me, little bits making sense. Four hours studying at home. Sleep. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. 

The point is: You sometimes just have to do something without really knowing how. And you might feel stupid while doing it. At least at first.

The more I worked on Hebrew, the more I actually began to understand what was being said. By the time I left Jerusalem, the city and language weren’t as foreign as they once felt. 

The same is true of writing. If I hadn’t understood the feeling of stupidity that assaults all those who embark on a learning adventure, I may have given up after the first friend never got back to me about my book: A.K.A. they were too embarrassed to tell me how awful it was. Or after the first critique hit me with all of my point of view slips and style suggestions. But I knew that, without trying badly, I would never know how to do it well. 

Whatever passion God has given you, have a lot of grace for yourself. Failures, even constant ones, are further steps toward being awesome at it.