When I think about writing, or sit down to a blank page or screen, I feel empty.
I have a desire to share my life, my story, because I think God strengthens our community through our honesty. When we hear of the joys and struggles of someone else, we feel less alone, and we see bits of hope as we marvel at the way they keep moving forward.
Also? I want to be known. Sharing with someone in person can be awkward, depending on the person, but since that person is usually me, it applies. My voice shakes, my sentences are choppy, I can’t make eye contact, and I don’t enjoy eye witnesses to these moments.
But with pen and paper, or fingers and a keyboard, it just flows.
Or it did.
Now I’m uncertain of having witnesses for my words.
And I’m starting to question…
Isn’t that just like the enemy? To quiet the storyteller? To squelch someone whose desire is to find freedom and encouragement and to share it with others by sharing the life God has given us?
It isn’t because I have nothing to say, but because it’s become to share the words.
You see, my idol is convenience. I like my children peaceful and uninterrupting, my husband on-time and helpful, and my down-time to be filled with my desires-tea, books, journals, writing. And if even one of those is off for a moment of the day, I react as if my whole day has been flushed right down the toilet with whatever else my girls threw in. I become so frustrated and angry that instead of seeking grace I turn to the god of checking out-food, social media, TV-and I. Sink. In. Words are pushed down and buried beneath guilt, shame, frustration at this cycle and my inability to break it, and my disconnect from God as I crawl out hopefully unnoticed from his blanket of grace.
This is where I’ve been for the last couple years. Hiding my story because I’m embarrassed. I feel hypocritical and guilty. I feel like I don’t belong here, speaking with other people because WHO AM I? A total mess with no reason or authority to share anything with anyone. Why would my story matter to you?
And maybe it doesn’t.
BUT, what if it does?!
What if there is one word or sentence here that helps one person pull the covers off one more day the way other storytellers have done form me? Wouldn’t the enemy love to see us lying in bed another day covered under guilt and hopelessness? Wouldn’t he just love one more day of victory?
So maybe for me writing is a way to enter into battle. To bring hope into despair, action into complacency, grace into guilt, delight into the everyday.
Maybe the way to fight is with these words, this story birthed to life by it’s Creator, to bring good to others and glory to Himself…
Maybe for me today, victory looks like one more day of picking up a pen, tapping the keys, and trusting that as I take this step of obedience, God will meet me here. And we can move together one more day…