The Beginning

Several months ago, I had an urge or a sense or a calling or something to begin writing. For real. Not just witty statuses or pithy comments or eloquent texts, but writing about emotions and thoughts and events in my life. Things God was showing me, things I was learning from other people, things I was discovering about myself. I got jacked about the idea, feeling a surge of passion reminiscent of days past. Live with passion. A phrase that once meant everything to me had withered away, shriveling in the burning heat of stress and time constraints, broken and breaking dreams. Survival mode.

A commitment to write each and every day awoke something within me. The thought of having an opportunity to use my love for and (alleged) skill with words in a way that could glorify God and possibly make a difference in the lives of others excited me. As the thought raced through my mind, it was like I was inhaling for the first time in a long time.

And then…nothing. I did nothing with it. I came back to the normal, to the ho-hum of daily living. Well, as normal as things get around here, anyway. I was caught up in the current idols of my heart, preoccupied with fixing rather than following. And in the process, I started holding my breath again. My chest started burning and my head was spinning, but I ignored the signs and kept going. Kept pushing.

But I’m tired of fighting myself, tired of running from God. Tired of running from the thought that I might possibly have something to offer. Fear drives me in a way I am ashamed and saddened to admit. Fear that I may possess a gift that means working harder. Fear of finding out that I could be so much better than I am; that I could be doing so much more than I already do. I know it sounds backward, but I don’t want to know what I could do. Because for me, that means I’m failing. Failing to be whatever I could be by not even trying. For some twisted reason, I’d prefer to be mediocre. But how I can I battle the lie that I’m not anything unique or special or worthwhile to others when I won’t allow myself to be those things to God or to me?

It’s time. It’s time to step up. It’s time to open myself up to truth. It’s time to allow God to show me who I am. Who He has made me to be. How He has designed me in such a way that I bring Him to the world in a way no one else does.

And so I embark on this writing journey. Much like my recent foray into running, there will be good days and bad days. I will drop the ball on more than one occasion. Not everything I write will make it to the public. But I am facing my fears and my insecurities. I am moving forward, knowing that He has gone before me. I am going to write.

And I am going to live with passion.