Not Quite A Fairytale

Months ago, in the moments between catching buses and freaking out that we weren’t anywhere familiar, God whispered an invitation to my heart.

Tell your story.

Of course, I have, in the months since, fought him with more strength than I even knew I had. Running as fast as I could in the other direction.

Who wants to hear this? Who gives a rip? What does it even mean? There are better stories, better voices, better vessels.

Use someone else.

Use that other girl. The one with the words that flow out like glistening bits of gold.

Not me. I’m all hard angles and sharp edges. I’m not pretty.

But that voice. That whisper. That invitation – remains. In the back of my mind, the tiny little places where I say, “I surrender all…but that.”

Each and every time I long to press in to the goodness of God, I see myself holding onto the piles of ME that I don’t want to share.   I don’t want to tell this story. It makes me look bad. It makes me remember…things. It brings out my foolishness and my own bitter self into a lime-light that crawls with a less-than good enough heart.

Yet, He’s waiting, offering me a piece of Himself I can only find when I let go.

So, after all this time, after all these years, sitting here in a beautiful, safe, place, I long to completely surrender. Am I brave enough to see God perform a miracle of redemption I can’t even imagine?

I don’t know how to graciously write this story. It’s ugly. It’s awkward. It’s filled with darkness, despair, and, finally, a jagged, patched up, simple faith.

This isn’t a sweet, gentle story and I don’t have a sweet, gentle personality. Having wrestled with God too many times to walk gracefully, I limp. I hobble along.

Insecurity prompts me to offer a disclaimer. I’m not looking for catharsis or redemption. I don’t want sympathy. Pride tells me to despise the weakness in me that refuses to speak but hope tells me I despise the rebellion that keeps me distant from my God even more.

So, this writing is about obedience. This telling is about drawing near to my Creator. So, even if no one reads, if the comment box stays empty, if the likes don’t breed like catholic rabbits, if I am rejected and ridiculed. If…

If all the things I fear truly come to pass I am at peace.

The Telling Begins (Part 1)

A Two-Faced Lie (Part 2)

Awkward Grace (Part 3)

An Almost Unbearable Inner Struggle (Part 4)

Glimpses of The Other Side (Part 5)

Dying To Live (Part 6)

Leaning on Him, again,