I have kept a journal for as long as I can remember. I would start one and write feverishly for a week or two (that’s about as long as my consistency lasted) and then it would dwindle down to every once in a while for a vomiting venting session between my pen and I.
The thing was, whenever I would go back and read what I wrote, my cheeks burned with embarrassment. I would rip the pages out and start over. But the same thing kept happening.
I threw a lot of garbage away. So I would quit journalling, but then I would start up again and the same cycle would continue. I would write nonsense about the weather and the weeds growing and doing the dishes and my angst with people and my insecurities and it would turn into another vomit/venting session. Time would pass and I would take a trip down memory lane and flush with embarrassment as I considered my words. I would either hide the evidence or rip the pages out and start again.
Until one day I started thinking: ‘Do I want my kids reading this garbage when I am dead?’ The answer was a resounding ‘no!’ I didn’t want my kids to just know about the ugliness in my heart. I wanted them to know how my garbage met Jesus and changed me for the better.
How could I turn my rambling journal thoughts about the messiness of my heart into an honest portrayal of a woman bent on living and loving and serving God while staying true about my struggles, but not staying in the struggle?
This became my quest.
I decided to be a ‘life-giver journaller’. I wasn’t sure what that looked like, but I wanted to be able to leave my journals as a life-giving gift to my lovelies after I died. So I bought a pretty journal because beauty inspires me. It was lavender pseudo-suede that I found on the end-cap of a discount store. I dated it and the blank page sat there, staring at me, mocking me, daring me to fall into the same ugly writing habit.
That blank page turned into a fledgling attempt at turning all my garbage and brokenness into an offering of praise. I would write verses that spoke to me and then an application for my life in my present season.
Yes, I wrote about the ugliness of my heart and the garbage would spill out, but this time I laid God’s word over my words and saw things through his lens. I said my truth and then I covered it with his Truth.
And for the first time, my words became life-giving.
I wrote as a gift to my kids, but I also wrote to myself.
Encouraging my heart. Examining my heart. Exercising my heart.
Now, when I take a walk down memory lane, I see remembrances of the evidence of God in my life. I see how he showed up in my ugliness and messiness and insecurities and emotional brokenness and brought healing and life. Through his word in my words.
I don’t hide my journals anymore. I have one on a bookshelf, a couple others are kept on a side table by my favorite chair. They are there for me to leaf through and be encouraged. The current one is with my bible and comes out each time I open God’s word.
I write about the nitty-gritty stuff of my heart and life. I also write about the joys and triumphs. I write quotes from books that affect my heart. But mostly I write those books to be a gift to my lovelies to give life to their hearts and for them to see into their flawed mama’s heart as she struggled along loving them well.
Proverbs 16:24: ‘Pleasant words are a honeycomb, sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.’
How do you use your words to bring life? Is this an area you struggle in? If you are a journaller, do you have hidden journals that need to see the truth of God laid over them?
It makes me look rather flibberty-jibbet and totally unpredictable and not dependable. ugh.
Confession? I didn’t like the ‘comparison-itis’ or the slimy, gossipy feeling I had when I clicked off social media or the lack of consistent authenticity in real-life vs. on-line life. So I deactivated. For my mental and emotional health. For protection.
So. Why try it again?
One, I am looking for community with other writers, heart-stirrers, and word-warriors. I have questions and concerns. I want to know if there are other’s who struggle with the pride and insecurity that seem to plague me and if I’m alone and how someone else worked through it. I need your stories.
Two, there’s the message within me to call hearts out to perceive their brokenness as something beautiful if placed in the hands of Jesus. And there are a lot of other word-warriors proclaiming this truth. I want to know them so we can join our voices together to proclaim truth and freedom and grace and love.
I cannot tell you how many tears I have shed over social media and really? Isn’t that absolutely stupid? It’s real and raw and pretty messy. And social media is neat and tidy and putting our best foot forward. First impressions are everything. Help?
Two years ago, the Lord broke me free from the chain of the people-approval-seeking-junkie label I have worn my entire life and since that freedom day I have been learning to live free. It’s hard. I accepted the freedom breaking on the condition that God would show me how to live without that noose wrapped around my neck because what’s the point of freedom if I’m not going to live free?
So…
Social Media. It’s stirring things long buried.
My twelve-year-old self is screaming, ‘Danger! Danger! One day you will wake up and everyone will hate you.’
My 20-year-old self is whispering, ‘If you be what they want you to be, you will be liked and accepted.’
My 30-year-old self is whispering, ‘Rejection is going to follow you all the days of your life.’
My 37-year-old self is whispering, ‘You’ve been set free. Trust God. Please him–his voice is all that matters. ‘
My current-year-old self is whispering, ‘This is stinking hard, I don’t know how to do this, I am too weak to live free.’
Which brings me to today–staring down my fears that social media is stirring:
To my twelve-year-old self I say: ‘Sweet thing, you need to forgive those girls who rejected you and abandoned your friendship because of a lie told about you. You know the truth. Jesus knows the truth and you are justified through him. Not every girl or woman is going to be like that crowd of friends.
To my 20-year-old self I say: ‘You can try to please everyone, but you will lose yourself along the way and losing yourself to people makes it really hard to lose yourself in God.’
To my 30-year-old self I say: ‘Rejection is a part of life, but it doesn’t have to define you or control you.’
To my 37-year-old self I say: ‘The brokenness and pain was worth the freedom!’
To my current-year-old self I say: ‘The Holy Spirit will give you power to live, only do not be afraid. Look to your God and listen to him. Listen for him and trust him to light the way for the next step. Be faithful and consistent in what he has given you to do.’
God is showing me how to live in the freedom that being the apple of his eye brings. It’s not without trepidation but I am trusting him to hold me close to his heart. Maybe you have voices in your head too–the kind that are tied to events in your past that affect how you make decisions in your present relationships.
Do you have fears that you wrestle with in your relationships, online or in real life? How are you overcoming them?
There have been seasons in my life when I felt I couldn’t ‘hear’ God. It felt like he was far, far away. I felt abandoned. I felt forsaken. There have been different reasons for those seasons of silence.
Once, I was wanting God to move on my behalf, but he was waiting for me to take a step of faith toward him first. He was asking me to do a hard thing, but I wrestled and argued with him. I didn’t want to listen so I didn’t. I refused to listen. If we choose not to listen to someone we eventually stop hearing them. They become silent to us.
Another time I was bound up with anger because a prayer I had prayed had gone ignored. At that time I thought that if I ticked all the Christian ‘to-do’ boxes, I had a guaranteed ‘yes’ to my heart’s cry. This was not the case. I learned that the Christian ‘to-do’ boxes have a completely different purpose for our lives and do not include manipulating God to do as I wish.
Disobedience. Sin. Anger. These things have brought me through seasons when I believed that God had gone silent when in reality it was I who had plugged my ears. I was like the little child who clapped her hands over her ears and hummed real loud to drown out what she doesn’t want to hear. I am the one who had stepped away from his safety and refuge in my own grown up version of a temper tantrum.
But I have learned there is a different kind of silence. The kind of silence where God is calling me to sit quietly in his presence and let himself flow over me and into my spirit. The kind of silence that is comforting and refreshing.
In those moments, I am given a choice. In that kind of silence I have an option of trusting him or trusting myself and what I think I know is best. It’s usually in those kind of silent moments that I know that if I step into a deeper trust with him that I will soon hear him loud and clear.
I need to do two things: trust him and dive deep into his word. I am a huge fan of the Old Testament. I love both the Old and the New, but I learn so much about my human frailty and God’s great big deep love for me in the Old Testament.
I read about the Israelites and I learn how they dealt with silence and how God dealt with them….
The Red Sea was an insurmountable obstacle. As the Isrealites looked at the Red Sea before them and Pharoah’s army behind them, they determined it was better for them to live as slaves than to die free.
God split the sea for them to walk across on on dry ground.
While they waited for Moses to come down the mountain, they turned to Aaron and their own logic, and created a god because Moses was taking too long on that mountain.
God was instructing Moses on the way of life for His people.
Mankind is generally uncomfortable with silence. Mankind says silence needs to be filled. It is tempting to explain away the silence rather than pressing into the silence.
What if the silence became our cue to tuck in closer to him? What if we asked for faith to believe that He is working and moving in ways that we cannot see? Will you tuck in close and trust?
God could be about ready to split the sea for you. He could be about ready to speak loud and clear. God could be doing a mighty act of deliverance. He could be singing songs over you. He could be calling you deeper into him.
But my attempts fail. If I am not visible to my lovelies, then their voice seeks me out: ‘Mom?’ Mo-o-o-mmm?’ ‘Where are you?‘ Someday I might be able to go to the bathroom without having to announce my plans. Maybe someday I won’t have to check in with someone (probably not).
My favorite hideaway that I visit in my day dreams involves mountains and a lake and a small cabin at water’s edge. It is green. It smells of the northwest. I have my coffee in one hand, a stack of books in the other and the sound of birds filling my ears. My heart sighs and I am at peace.
Then I wake to reality. I may not be able to physically hide, but I am learning where I can hide myself.
‘You are my hiding place, you will protect me from trouble, you surround me with songs of deliverance.’ Psalm 32 :7
What does hiding in the Lord look like?
I think of hiding places as being calm and still and secret, but how does this work in my everyday life? My everyday life is not calm, still and secret. It’s messy and noisy and involves a lot of people. In my everyday life, I am tired. In my everyday life, I sometimes forget to pay attention to life as it’s passing by.
How in the world do I tuck myself into Jesus while at the same time reaching out and ministering to my family? Practically speaking I cannot literally hide. I could tell my lovelies that we are going to play hide and forget the seek, but that won’t work. The seeking is where the fun is! There are too many things that require my attention and time. So what does hiding in Jesus look like?
It must, it needs to be a spiritual act. We live on two planes. What our spirits are engaged in and what our physical selves are doing. The soul – our mind, will, and emotions – is the tie between the two parts.
What are the thoughts running through my mind? The verses in 2 Cor. 10: 3-5 instruct me to take every thought captive and bring it under the authority of Jesus. My spirit must be engaged with what my soul is thinking and feeling.
Living in awareness of where our thoughts take us is one key to staying hidden in Christ.
So I tell myself: Think about Christ. Think about his love and promises. Practice living peace, love, joy, patience, goodness, self-control, kindness, faithfulness and gentleness.
Live aware.
The fight between lies and truth take place in the battlefield of my mind. The renegade thoughts attempt to disrupt the peace of God in my heart and to push me out of the hiding place. The truth of who Christ is and who I am and whose I am, keep me in the hiding place. Could taking my thoughts captive be another way of saying that I am hidden in Christ?
Hiding places bring to mind small, dark, narrow places, but really, what if, by just changing our mindset of what hiding places are, we find the spacious place of rest in Jesus?
He is light and in him there is no darkness. So, imagine his hiding place as being filledwith the most wonderful, warm light and everywhere else is darkness. Where would you rather be?
In the light.
The world outside of the light is dark and scary and it is hard to find the way. That place, the darkness, is just a step away from the light. One step and I can be plunged into the darkness. One step back and I find the light of his hiding place.
He is my hiding place. He is my protector. My anxious heart is soothed by songs of deliverance. And I have found my hiding place in Him.
‘You are my hiding place, you protect me from trouble, you surround me with songs of deliverance’.
May we rest in him and hide ourself in the light of his goodness and trust.
I find silence disconcerting. If silence lingers I think of a way to fill it. If silence lingers I wonder if I have done something wrong. If silence is accompanied by scowls, I grow insecure.
You see, if I can keep the conversation rolling long enough and make you laugh hard enough, then maybe, just maybe, you won’t see me and disapprove.
Somewhere along the way, I decided it was my job to make everyone around me happy by being who they wanted me to be or who I thought they wanted me to be. The problem with that? When things grow silent my first impulse is to take the blame for some nameless unknown offense. I offer myself up as a scapegoat because there must be something inherently wrong with me, right?
But when God is silent?
I freak.
Until I think about hiding places.
A really good hiding place is pretty quiet. It’s still. It’s silent. It’s a good kind of silent. The kind of silence that breathes.
Unless you’re scared. Then it’s not. But if it’s safe? Then it’s the best kind of quiet.
Psalm 27:5 ‘For he will hide me in his shelter in the day of trouble; he will conceal me under the cover of his tent; he will lift me high upon a rock.’
God is my safe place. He is my hiding place. It’s okay to hide from trouble and the best kind of hiding is in the safest of places and the safest of places are the quietest of places. What if God is silent not because he is angry, but because he is keeping me safe?
Then the silence becomes something good and beautiful. It becomes something to be thankful for.
What if silence became an opportunity to rest in the One who holds me close to his heart and hides me within himself?
When God is silent I have an opportunity to learn to wait. I learn to be still. I trust that he is working in my circumstance and in me.
What if in the silence we learn to wait on him? What if in the silence we learn to be still? What if in the silence we learn to let him work and stop striving for solutions? What if we viewed God’s silence as an opportunity to trust him more?
I am learning to be okay with sitting quietly with someone. I am learning to enjoy another’s presence without the need for words. (this is hard!) I am also learning to enjoy the sweet comradery of God’s presence without the need for words. And the beautiful thing? If I am silent I find that God is not really silent, he is just waiting for me to hush up so he can speak. It’s in those still, silent places that I can hear his whispers reaching my frantic heart and I hear him clearly.
Silence doesn’t have to be scary. It doesn’t have to mean disapproval. Sometimes silence a really, really good thing to embrace. Silence reminds me to be still.
Do I still freak out when God is silent? A little. But now I do a few things:
I don’t automatically assume that I am inherently wrong.
I open myself up to the Holy Spirit and his work.
I wait patiently and trust his heart.
What happens the next time God is silent? I am going to be still, hush up, and listen. I just might hear his whisper.
Beauty and the Beast. I love this story. I even loved the Disney version. (If you get a chance, though, look up the story in a book of fairy tales–beautiful). I use to know the music. I use to sing along to the track in my ’76 Thunderbird, pretending to be Belle as she finds understanding and her destiny in the most unlikely of places: the castle of a beast.
When I look into a mirror, I don’t see beauty, I see a beast. I see the woman who has a sharp tongue oftener than a gentle one. I see a woman who is prone to impatience. I see a woman who distractedly listens to her people while trying to read an article or book or facebook post. I see a woman with freckles that make her face look dirty, especially in the summer, when she fails to use sunscreen. I see a woman who could stand to exercise more and eat less. I see a woman who failed at loving someone well. I see a woman who was quick to judge and slow to love. I see a woman struggling to love her neighbor.
I know that Jesus calls us to love our neighbor as ourselves. But let me ask this: How can I love my neighbor when I can’t stand myself? Why am I surprised when I struggle to accept my neighbor as they are when I cannot accept myself?
Do I try harder? Do I think positive thoughts? Do I re-imagine myself into a new being? Do I come up with a three-point plan to be executed to the best of my ability? Do I beat my breast and condemn myself in the hopes that that will produce more love for others?
Could this be approaching the problem backward? Love People, be kind to ourselves, love God. Or sometimes we try this approach: Work at loving God more so I can love people better. There is nothing inherently wrong with this statement. It’s a good and beautiful statement. But when we have to ‘work’ at loving God? But when we hate ourselves? When we despise ourselves? How does this fulfill the great commandment to love your neighbor as yourself?
I find this truth: My ability to love is directly related to my ability to know how deeply I am loved.
Loving others cannot be something that is a task I check off my list. The harder I try to love others, the harder it seems. But? What if I started believing the immense truth of how much I am loved by God.
1 John 4:19 ‘We love because he first loved us.’
Love is impossible without recognizing this truth. We don’t love God because we are commanded to love God. We love God because he first loved us and because of that first arrow of love to our hearts we are enabled and empowered by the Holy Spirit to love God with all our hearts, souls, mind, and body.
My ability to love others is tied directly to my ability to receive the TRUTH of God’s love for me. You see, when I reject myself, which is what I do when I condemn myself for my failures and my imperfections, I am rejecting the love of God for me and in me. I am setting myself up as judge and jury in my life and determining me guilty.
If we press further, we see that the judge has set us free through his son. Not to live and do as we please, but only to live and do as he pleases. And that, my friend, is receiving the love he has for you and me and then allowing that love to flow genuinely through us to others.
Sometimes we have to start small.
Sometimes we have to tentatively step out in faith and say–‘God, I love you because you first loved me. I am going to ruminate on 1 John 4:19 that says that I love because you first loved me. Any love I have for another person has to flow out of that truth.’
And then, I pray that we hear these words of God sung over us:
‘You belong to me, you belong to me, you’re mine through and through. You belong to me, my Child.’
It’s in my ‘beastliness’ that I reach for and receive God’s grace of his love for me as it flows over and through me. I find my destiny in the truth of God’s love for me.
