Recycling a “Treasure Trove” or Beating a Dead Horse?

Despite a handful of in-person pleas of devoted readers, I’ve held pretty firm about not wanting to continue writing Texas Schmexas posts as this pregnancy progresses and gets more uncomfortable, and maybe not even continue using the blog to chronicle our ongoing journeys through the chaos of community after baby bean numero dos arrives.

(I was kidding about the adjective “devoted,” by the way–I think they were just trying to make conversation and be polite.)

Quite honestly, when I take the time to scan back over some of the posts I’ve written over the last few years–and there’s been over four hundred of them–many of them are saying the same things over and over again.

Don’t get me wrong: these are important things, these calls to community, these reminders to myself of the ways I’ve failed and been hypocritical about my own convictions, these encounters with perfect strangers that have sometimes changed me.

In a byline for a guest post I wrote at my friend Thomas’s blog last week, he called Texas Schmexas a “treasure trove of introspective writing.”

I’m not sure I’d put that bumper sticker on my car, but I do consider myself fortunate to have had time over the last five or six years to reflect on the potential of community to change us, the importance of cultivating community even when it’s hard, even when we don’t want to, and the sincere conviction that without community we really are not living out the image of God in the world.

Still, if you feel like you’re saying the same thing over and over again, especially to yourself, it makes you wonder if

(a) you've already said all there is to say, 
(b) you're making any progress on the journey, and/or 
(c) anyone even notices that you aren't saying anything new.

It’s the whole beating-a-dead-horse thing. Apologies to the animal lovers out there.

But maybe because I do kind of miss hanging out here at Texas Schmexas, maybe because jotting down notes about potential essays and blog posts in my  journal isn’t quite the same thing as sharing in conversations about these ideas and challenges, who knows the reason–

I had a brainstorm yesterday about 
recycling old Texas Schmexas posts.

What do you think?

I was thinking that unless you’re my mom, you probably don’t spend very much time in the Texas Schmexas archives.

So as Mardi Gras and Ash Wednesday sneak upon us next week, most people don’t remember what I wrote last Mardi Gras or Ash Wednesday or the year before that or the year before that. Why not revisit those thoughts and repost them?

I also checked the statistics that WordPress so helpfully keeps track of, and glanced over the most popular Texas Schmexas posts of all time. I’ve been surprised over the years that the posts I have most enjoyed writing have gotten the fewest clicks and the fewest comments, while posts I’ve thought were real duds have struck a chord. Why not reshare some of those?

So I think I will go ahead and schedule out a few months’ worth of new-old posts.

If you’ve read them before, feel free to delete them from your inbox. My feelings won’t be hurt, since of course I won’t even know.

But if you haven’t read them before, and they say something to you, I’d love to hear from you about it. Drop me a note or leave a comment. I’ll still reply. For the time being.

And maybe I’ll even write something new.


At least until the Beanster Redux arrives.



4 comments on “Recycling a “Treasure Trove” or Beating a Dead Horse?

  1. says:

    Elizabeth, I love the recycling idea. I’ll look forward to it. Go for it. RA

  2. Mom(Bonnie) says:

    You are right!! I do go to the archives!! Love the idea of recycling.

  3. Darla says:

    I like the idea. I find it interesting to re-read a book several years later and see if I experience it the same or differently. Recycling your posts would be similar. Go for it!

  4. kelsie says:

    Do it! I like this idea and think it’s a good way to be reminded about community and all-things-texas schmexas while you still get a rest from writing new posts.

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