It’s been nearly a year since I have published any words I’ve penned.
Our culture is so inundated with opinions, posts, and articles.
The last thing I ever want to do is be another voice that distracts from the whisper of the One we fight to discern.
And if I’m honest, it’s easier to let the world perceive my life as a series of pretty square pictures instead of the mess it often is.
Yet every time I press delete on another draft,
I can’t help but think about the way the Lord has used people’s vulnerability in written words to reach me in some of the darkest days I’ve lived.
And then I’m faced with a question Donald Miller posed in Scary Close:
“What if part of God’s message to the world was you? The true and real you?”
Who am I to let my fear or pride stand in the way of that?
Satan gains a scary amount of ground when he convinces us our silence or inaction does not leave this world void of something.
Our stories are valuable, even when we don’t feel it.
Miller’s conclusion to that question led him to this:
“So I wrote. I wrote as though God thought my voice mattered. I wrote because I believed a human story was beautiful, no matter how small the human was. I wrote because I didn’t make myself, God did. And I wrote like he’d invited me to share my true “self” with the world.”
If I have learned anything in the past year, it’s that grace only sticks to our brokenness.
And if I can’t accept my own imperfections and remove the mask I hide behind, I can’t accept grace either. And God, do I need grace.
So, I write because I wrestle.
I write because flaws are the glue that will bind us to one another.
I write because I have committed grave injustice if I lead anyone to believe I am anything less than desperately dependent on daily deliverance.