I'm a girl who loves words and the Word. Falling more so every day.
The Word became flesh.(John 1:14)
My flesh turns words and I grapple for my spirit, His Spirit to turn them instead.
Because I understand more so every day that in the tongue is the power of life and death. (Proverbs 18:21) And that it is in silence that wisdom is found. And where sin is quieted.
So being a lover of words and a lover of Him who loves words, who is the Word, I ask Him, "What do you want from me?"
I do not often hear Him audibly or even feel His presence. Though I try. But sometimes I'm just left unsure. So I turn to the Word. Love, glory, seeking, obedience, mercy, humility.
I have a long way to go.
But this is part of how I try. Me, a girl who excuses her reservation as a form of humility. Who judges others as smug when really, they only carry a confidence I do not have.
But I took a dare. A dare made by self to do this. To write online, for purposes I don't quite understand. Maybe to laugh off fear.
What am I so afraid of? God's words or my own? Knowing that it is He alone I write for, I come under conviction at times, attack at others. I read things as a confirmation to cease. Elie Wiesel in Legends of Our Time writes of a "Selishter Rebbe" who told him once to, "Be careful with words, they're dangerous. Be wary of them. They beget either demons or angels. It's up to you to give life to one or the other. Be careful, I tell you, nothing is as dangerous as giving free rein to words." Our thoughts turned words, yes need all the watchfulness in the world." And I am scared right out of writing when I read this. Good enough reason as any to just quit. I can't be trusted, God.
But really, it's an excuse to not be real or honest. To feign coy all the time, stay safe with the few I know who love me, but ineffectual always with any others. So is that what God would want?
How much do I love other's words? Other's candor? How aided have I been by other's truths, their stories and their admissions? Am I so different that I am called to be tongue tied always in the 'real world' and required even on paper to be silenced?
And then I read my morning Ann Voskamp. And every Tuesday she writes of words and of their worth and so I switch my stance. Think, okay, maybe. Maybe, I can do this too. Be brave as well.
And perhaps, I sound like a broken record with this theme of angst and writing. But I can not write from any place but the one I'm at. Or, I could but it would not be truth. And if it's not truth, what would be the point?
"If you tell me the way you see it rather
than the way it "is, " then this helps me
to more fully discover the way I see it."
-from Notes to Myself by Hugh Pranther
So, for now, I'll keep trying on the words given me. I am in front of mirror, trying on words like dresses and I'm a bride. I'm an artisan weaving in writing for His Holy Tabernacle the colors He's laid out before me. It's all I have to give and it's not much, but He loves me and He loves the offering.