It's been a while since I've written anything that could remotely resemble what one might call a blog. Years, actually. The crazy part is these blog posts practically used to write themselves. Sounds silly, right? Somehow, an out-of-left field thought would form based on something someone said, some experience I had or a random "trigger" would happen and, as simple as that, an idea would be born. Thousands of words, ideas and images would literally bounce off the walls of my mind until they found each other and made sense. Quite literally, it would feel as if my head wanted to burst wide open if these words didn't hit a page or a screen somewhere, as cheesy as that might sound. I've never claimed to be cool, though. :-)
I look back now at the seven or so years I posted almost daily and considered myself a "blogger" and its strange. Those years have the same sensation of when you wake from a deep sleep and you know you had a dream but you can't really make any of it come clear. I've read back over those blog entries in years since and re-lived some of those "post-worthy" moments intensely simply because I had them detailed in writing. I'm so thankful I have them. And I'm so thankful that, because of those words and the people who read them, and a decent-sized audience of readers who grew, God did an awesome and weird and amazing thing: He brought me my daughter. This "Custom Made Kid" who I can't stop talking about and who made all of the puzzle pieces of my life - both seen and unseen - fall into place.
But back to being a "formerly known as..." blogger...
Like I said, I've read them again, here and there. They were (maybe too) open and as raw as I knew how to be and often, to be honest, annoying. It's weird to look at your "former" self and have to listen to her inside thoughts. I eye-rolled many a time. She was just a "young whippersnapper" compared to who I feel like I am now. I kid you not, there moments I literally cringed at the amount of details I shared or my word choices and, for the love, how many of them. The words, I mean. Apparently there is no straight and to the point for me. I think of myself as a painter of pictures, only with words. And boy, I sure took my time painting some of those, didn't I? (Can I get an amen, church?)
At the end of the day, the truth is, the years that followed adopting LC have been busy (good gosh, soooo busy) and different and wonderful in many ways. I have a little four (and a half she won't let you forget) year old blond-haired, blue-eyed beauty who literally lights up my world and / or burns it down. You know, depending on the day. ;-) But there is also reality that happened during those years...and my posts stopped when I started feeling too guarded to live and speak openly and for reasons as simple as it's not an image I feel is worth painting.
For lack of a better example, it was like one of those pictures you take on vacation because you're awed by something or you find it interesting and then when you get back home and settle into reality and look at it, you realize it wasn't what you thought at all. Either the perspective was off or the image was fuzzy or what looked so real to you then doesn't seem real at all. So you take the best of the pictures you did take and remember the memories you made and the lessons you learned on that trip. You post the "best of" on those proverbial social media outlets for the world to see - not because you're trying to be fake but because that's what is worth remembering. Not the minutia. Not the days it rained. Not the fussing and fighting nor wrong turns you made or the traffic jams you had to sit in way too long. I said it when I was writing "back then" and I'll say it again...if you want perfect, it doesn't live here.
I am too weak and broken (aren't we all broken in some way as people) to live up to that expectation. Trust me, no need to tell me I come up lacking when compared to the standards of perfection...I'm well aware. I have been called fake and disappointing and attention-hungry. And at some points in my life, I'm sure I've lived up to those descriptors. Genuinely, I mean this. I'm not being snarky or sarcastic or even trying to be funny. I'm sure I've been one or all of those things at various times in my life. But I've finally come to one conclusion:
If I wait to get my life together first, my life and this ministry I feel called to would never happen.
The truth and nothing but the truth is that there is purpose in my pain. When Life is good, it's good and that's just fine. But when it's bad, I become less and I need HIM to be more. And apparently, despite my best attempts, I can't get the balance right because over and over I find myself messing up. Failing even or being on the receiving end of someone else's failures. Life is messy. And sometimes you're the one messing it up and sometimes someone's messes throw up all over you. And repeat.
The good in that reality is that Our God is here and available and ready to make miracles out of our messes and mistakes, no matter how tragic we appear to those looking at our lives from the outside. He crafted heaven and earth and rolled out the stars. Am I really so silly that I think He is surprised by my life and whatever path it has been down and whatever course it has taken and will take?
Bottom line, I have to stop being embarrassed of the details and imperfections and, even more importantly, I HAVE to stop being afraid if I'm ever going to be who God has called me to be. It doesn't mean I won't ever screw up again because, let's face it, I will. I'm human. Aren't you?
So when the devil tries to bury me, I find ways I can rejoice. Because what my enemy didn't know (or seems to continually forget) is that God made me a tiny little seed. Put me in the ground, heap dirt all over my head...and still Life will spring forth.
...all my sin you raised, now my debt is paid.