Let me start by saying this feels raw. It feels like I have taken the bandage and ripped it right off. It feels vulnerable. But yet it feels exactly like what this soul is needing. I drove to the coffee shop today to write this first blog post (there’s a LOT more back story here, but since I tend to be a wordy writer anyway I will spare you those details – for now), praying for God to go before me and meet me there with the words He wanted me to spill onto the page. That His Spirit would guide my fingers. Would guide my thoughts. That it wouldn’t be my message, but His. It feels like I have years of emotions built up needing to share. It feels like I have been missing a part of me in not writing. It feels like in ripping this bandage off, healing is there. At the surface. It’s just what He promised it would be.
I wrote my first blog post almost a decade ago. And since we’re talking about how I feel here…that feels crazy. It felt somewhat like what this moment feels like. The “okay, God, I get it…you want me to write.” It had bubbled up in me so long that there was no tidily tucking it back in. Here I am a decade later with that same feeling. Yet this time, it comes with years of motherhood in my bag and raw moments of life that have literally brought me to my emotional end, crying out for His hand. His revival in me. His anything He has to give me. Which I have learned over and over is, literally, His everything. And this time, it’s not just that I want to write. It’s that I need to write.
Life is a whirlind. It swirls and twirls like one of those spinny things we used to play on on the playground as kids. Where you grip tight, white-knuckled, close your eyes, and feel the force of the rotation slamming against you as you just try to hold your head up strong. It doesn’t slow down until you’re begging the spinner to stop. Begging to be able to catch your breath. Begging to get off. And then you do. You jump. You get that moment where you’ve hit the ground and, yet, you can still feel your body in motion. But at rest. That’s this moment. I’ve been stuck on the spinny thing. Gasping for that breath. Shouting out for the mercy. For His healing. What I didn’t realize, is that I had to choose to jump off. Choose to catch my breath. He was offering it. He was reaching out. I was just too busy and dizzy.
I’m not fully sure where I’m going here. Yet I know I’m supposed to be going. I know that my Savior won this battle in my heart and as many times as I have tried to fight it myself, He fought it for me. That’s what I know for certain. I can’t wrap this up into a tidy package, explaining exactly the posts you’ll find. But one thing is for certain, know that each blog post shared here is a culmination of the grace He’s pouring out to me daily and the ashes that I’m choosing to rise above. If it ever sounds messy, that’s because it is. That’s where I find myself in less need of me and more in need of Him. And if at other times it sounds neat and tidy, that’s through Him and His abundance. I’m choosing to be here for Him. For all of it.
Here I am, God. Head still spinning. Swirling. Yet, I know you’ve called me to this place at this time for your purpose. I’ve jumped off and I’m ready to catch my breath in You. I’m accepting your grace and rising from these ashes of soul weariness. You are alive in me. Fill this vessel to pour your light and your love out here in this space. May it be a space that is a quiet retreat for my soul and for other souls. Yet, let it be a bold, holy ground for you to move and to set on fire on mission to spread your message.
grace and ashes 