I have a tendency to make this whole God-life thing about me.
What I need.
What I’m doing.
What I pray.
How I live out his precepts.
How I expect his promises to be fulfilled in my life.
How I interpret God’s word.
How I need a miracle…yesterday.
I read about miracles in the news and in missionary letters and I marvel to think that the miracles I read about in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John really and truly do happen today.
The thing? Miracles are for us, but they’re about Jesus.
I look at Mark 10:46-52 and identify with the blind man.
He was desperate for an encounter, an engagement with Jesus so he began shouting his name: ‘Jesus!’ How many times do I call out his name because I am desperate for an engagement with Jesus in my circumstances? Often….
But then this man: blind, calling for Jesus does something else–he references the truth of Jesus’ identity: The Messiah. He emphatically declared who Jesus was.
Do I just call for Jesus by name or do I reference his identity?
Prince of peace= peace for uncertain times
Mighty Counselor= comfort for the weary and worn
Bread of Life= sustenance for the journey of life
River of Life= true satisfaction
I need a savior, absolutely I do, but I also need peace, comfort, sustenance, and satisfaction. And they can be found in the One man who gives sight to the blind.
When Jesus passed by the man, he stopped and asked this question: ‘What do you want?’ The man simply states: ‘I want to see’.
If Jesus were to ask me what I wanted I would have a mile long list with requests ranging from my family loving him to financial freedom to what our future will be.
But what if I stopped and simply said, ‘I want to see.’
I would be like the blind man who didn’t just receive his physical sight, but received spiritual sight.
Sometimes we are so deep into life and our circumstances that we don’t know we are smack dab in the middle of a great big story of grace. Wouldn’t it be amazing if I could see a bit of that story?
So today– let’s ask to see and open our eyes to God’s grace in our lives. It might be merely recognizing the blue sky and clouds, the blooming peonies, the dandelion bouquets, the smiles on your babies, or the fact that you took a deep breath before you dove into life.
I will be praying for you to see the miracles unfolding before you today!
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?
