I’m here again.
Me, the one with the messy bun, obsessed with coffee and colors and
cleaning my house. I’ve popped in a few times, but really it’s been a long absence and five unfinished posts in the drafts file, a lot of unsure feelings and a few headaches later –
I’m here again.
Because I keep feeling this deep inner compulsion to come back and try again. Because writing is like breathing for me and not writing makes me feel a little oxygen-deprived. I wasn’t even ten yet and my mother had bought me a composition book and told me I had to write. She literally said “you have to write once a day”, because I had protested about writing in that pink composition book that looked too much like school.
My mama told me that I had a gift and she gave me the tools to use it, and that’s about the best thing a mama could ever do for her child – bless and empower them in their God-given gifting.
But I never thought then – or ever – that I would be afraid of it.
That I would break because of it.
And that I would desperately want to just quit it.
But writing is like breathing for my soul and God made it that way.
My soul has brought me here again and it has brought me here because of my fears, not in spite of them, and I’m just going to say it out loud, once and for all –
I’m afraid of what people think of me.
I have lived in the bondage of this my whole life and I’m not about to wax intellectual on all the possible reasons why, nor give you some overconfident soap box pep talk on self-worth and image. I’m just going to tell you a story – my story – and I’m going to do it as graciously brave as I can, and it might take time and I’m sorry but – it might not always make sense to you?
And really, I’m okay with that as long as my words will only somehow breathe life into your soul and champion you in your journey.
I’m starting over, friends.
I’ve felt threatened by whispers of criticism, but I’ve been ridiculed most by the war in my own head.
I’m starting over, because I’m breaking free.
Irenaeus said, “The glory of God is man fully alive,” and there is nothing less than His great glory that God’s archenemy covets and works tirelessly to dismantle, piece by piece.
The Apostle Paul started Romans 12, a chapter that speaks of the grace gifts given to us by God, by making an urgent appeal to the people of God. I won’t try to paraphrase his powerful petition:
“I appeal to you, therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.”
By the mercy of God, show up.
Show up and sacrifice yourself, your one whole self, and present yourself holy and acceptable to God.
Your spiritual worship of God, is to present yourself to God.
Maybe the hardest part of this for some of us – for me – is that there is no presenting of yourself to people when all that you are and all that you have been given is for God.
The divine origin (logy, logia) of your glory and appearance (doxa) is God. You are from Him, and to Him and it is only in Him that we live and move and have our being. The glory of God is man fully alive and we are only ever fully alive when our identity is resting in Christ. You have been filled in Him.
So show up and face whatever fear constricts your soul, and dare to live your one life now and do it boldly and fearlessly and gently and selflessly. Share you story, sing your song, and your very soul becomes a gift of His glory, a banner of hope and love and life for someone else.
I have cared too much what others think, and lived too much for others approval, and I have only keenly learned the dismal truth that you will never be perfect enough for everyone and trying to please humanity will only bring you into a dungeon of unmet expectations.
Be strong enough, in Him, to serve not please, and you will become the you that you were meant to be.
I’m staring at this screen and I’m cringing right down to my toes.
It’s so easy to hide behind words on a screen.
I have done this – too much.
And I am quite sure that is why I’m coming back afraid.
I only want to speak words that are honest to the liturgy of my life.
So I’m starting over.
I’m here again, hopeful.
Hopeful that my one small, ordinary life on a quiet street in a small town in podunk northwestern Pennsylvania, will breathe hope and speak Jesus.
Hopeful that the stories I tell about my God and His amazing love for even me, will point someone else to a good Father who is mighty to save.
Hopeful that the things I tell you – about my life and my heart and my people – will only sing of the mercies of the Lord.
Because it is the mercy of God that we are not consumed, His compassion fails not and great is His faithfulness.
“Hope is the thing with wings that lands at the end of you and shows you how to open to possibilities so you never close again. – Emily Di