It goes without saying that this place has gotten a bit dusty. And whenever it’s quiet here, it somehow convinces me to remain silent. These wordless days raise the glass walls high and breaking the silence seems much too messy. But the wrestle continues within my bones; words, a voice, a pulse that chips away at the walls around me.
These days, I question why I even have a blog, why I even want to write?
It’s made me revisit the bedrocks of the voice I have scribbled on napkins and torn pieces of paper and journals and sometimes on this quiet corner of the internet. Peeling back the layers of motives and insecurities and passions beneath the calling I am learning to embrace, I find the beams of light that reveal the gifts extended by my Father. I write because I cannot help myself, He urges me to scrape the white paper and break silence.
I blog to push myself as a writer. It’s something I’ve ignored in seasons of my life, but yet I inevitably stumble over it again and again; this calling is sticky and will not be forgotten. I’ve avoided calling myself a “writer” for almost a decade. The title felt like an imposter that intended to hold me to the ground and choke me with expectations I could never meet. “I’m not good enough, smart enough, or consistent enough to be a writer,” I reasoned — but somehow that spark of passion wouldn’t be killed. It’s an identity. An identity that for me stemmed from following Jesus closely while desperately praying for a voice to give clarity, beauty, and testimony to His goodness.
I’ve stood toe-to-toe with the lie that one voice doesn’t matter. My bookcases and news feeds hold countless worthy voices that more perfectly and beautifully say the words I hold inside. Why should I add my voice?
… because He is listening. It doesn’t matter if anyone reads a word I say here, but it does matter that I obey and respond to His grace and truth with the tools He has equipped me to use. He is my audience and my reason for weaving words together and breaking silence wide open.
I blog to take writing seriously. It’s a craft, like any other. I’m not perfect by any means, but I work hard to strengthen my voice and my purpose all to better serve the Lord and encourage His body. This place gives me room to grow, room to let it go, room to open my hands and offer it up. It’s still ragged with imperfections, but I seek to take a better aim at the reality of His perfection.
I write to learn and lean on this: “Such confidence we have through Christ towards God. Not that we are adequate in ourselves to consider anything as coming from ourselves, but our adequacy is from God.” (2 Corinthians 3:4-5)