My husband, my biggest fan, often asks me why I stopped writing. He quizzes me about why I stopped doing this thing I loved so much. I avoid answering because I don’t want to think about why. Some of it has to do with it becoming my paycheck and less of my passion, but the majority of my “writing neglect” has to do with perception.
A year ago when Christ laid things very heavily on my heart, I began to share those convictions in type on a screen. I opened my mess up for others to read, hoping my vulnerability might bring strength in another’s area of weakness. And by God’s grace, it worked. It served purpose. I was contacted by strangers who admitted sobbing through words I ferociously typed down as they were given to me, but others started treating me differently. Treating me as if I was full of myself, as if I was somehow proud of my words. And I remember thinking “my words are of weaknesses, where strength is renewed” . . . How can anyone think I’m trying to be something I’m not in my little corner of the internet?
Then there was today.
I was sitting with someone who recently sat behind me on a flight and we were discussing the breathtaking view outside of our plane window that kept us from sleeping. While we were flipping through pictures, I laughed and shared with her that I think it is so intentional of our Creator to make it nearly impossible to capture His beauty.
Picture after picture just made me laugh because not only did I think, “none of these are even close to what my eyes took in,” but it just served as a reminder that “this moment was meant specifically for me and Him. He made this moment, this scene, specifically for me to share with Him.” That the God of this universe cares enough about little old meaningless me to give me that moment alone with Him.
She asked me “Oh my gosh! Have you ever written that down?” I laughed and said no. But the look in her eyes reminded me why I should.
The reason I had words so long ago was because I was sharing my most intimate moments, thoughts, fears, feelings, joys, I was sharing them with the God who gave them to me. He gave me those moments not so that I would selfishly keep them to myself, He gave them to me to share. Because my wounds might be your wounds. My joys might be your joys. My healing might be your healing.
And while I would never compare the intimacy I shared with God on that plane to the words that I put down on paper, God used tonight as a simple reminder that with Him and through Him all things have purpose.
That sometimes when you are surrounded by naysayers, you push through to what you are called to do, because of just that…you are called. I was called to share this vulnerability with you, and called to remind you that your moments have purpose. They aren’t on accident or without reason. And I’m done being selfish with those I know that I’m supposed to share with you. Because even if a hundred people think my words are a waste, there’s one out there that will see them and know their worth/their purpose/their intent. Because as a "creator" of anything, you should never create to please the masses, you do it to ease the mind of one.
Above is the best glimpse I can give you into the intimate moment I shared with God on that plane. And I assure you, that moment was real — and that moment was on purpose.