What Am I Afraid Of?

Tags

Courage, Encouragement, Fear, Truth, Writing

Words fail me. Lately. When I try to sum up what this thing is that I do and why I do it and why I can’t not do it and why some days the words won’t come . . .  words fail me. And the question rattles hard in my head.

Is it . . . maybe . . . that I don’t want them to?

The written word is one of the most powerful tools of expression we have. I believe that. I know others are moved by music. Haunting melodies, crashing crescendos and soft notes on keys, strings and breath blowing beauty out of nothing. Others still are moved by the stroke of a brush, life poured out into paintings hung on high walls in quiet sacred spaces. Others listen long, rapt and swept away by operatic tenors and sopranos. Some prefer to watch the bard upon the stage. And some may simply sit silent at the water’s edge, satisfied in their own skin, waiting for their moment of expression to stir.

When I think about all these things, so many different ways we have of giving life to what lies deep within, I can’t help but marvel. What a gift. And if you want to tell me you don’t have a creative bone in your body, I’ll tell you that’s not so. You just haven’t found it yet.

We were born to create. 

It is how we are meant to use our voice. 

And you can do that. You can speak loudly without ever saying a word.

And when you have done it, when you have freed that spirit within and called it out by name, there is no going back. You have given it life, and it will in turn pour that life out to others, and back into you.

I think that’s how it’s meant to work. It’s a startling, surprising thing, this gift. I don’t quite know it as well as I ought. Even though I like to think I do. Even now in this moment, these words I write surprise me. Encourage me a little too, in the midst of a strange season where more often than not the words fail me.

And the question whispers round again.

What am I afraid of? 

Have I become afraid to use my voice?

It’s a stark reality.

Because I know.

How much easier to sit in silence and let others speak for me. How much easier to nod and smile and wander through the days in some semi-comatose state where nothing really matters at all. How much easier to sit on shaking hands. To ignore the phone. To retreat.

Been there. Done that.

It’s not easier. It’s life-sucking. Stifling. Dangerous.

And I know now. I know the truth.

 If I refuse my words then I refuse my gift. My calling. This one thing I was born to do.

But I’m not sure I’m meant to do it alone. I think about all the friends I don’t see enough of or hear from enough because it’s busy, we’re all busy and tired and stressed and sometimes who can be bothered, is what I tell myself. But life, this is not a solitary journey. Though it feels that way sometimes. If you know, if you write or create without collaboration, you sit alone in a swirl of thought day in and day out until finally, they’re freed, those words, and forming something that sort of makes sense on the page.

Is that enough?

I’d say not. I’d say to myself today, this new day here where once again I’m kicking off the dread and the discouragement, that it’s not enough to sit alone staring at the screen. I need more. More talking. More reaching out. More laughter. And yet it’s up to me. To change. To leave the safety zone I have created here and step into something new. Anything. And I’m on a rabbit trail now that circles back to the original thought.

What am I afraid of? 

Failing. Possibly. Failing miserably more likely. Rejection. Being misunderstood. Dismissed.

Skin crawls as old wounds start to itch again.

But I think about it, really, and remember. Remember how I have stood against those whispering vicious voices in the past. Ignored them and kicked them back where they came from.

And if I’d never tried, never dreamed or hoped or given myself permission to do this thing . . . this thing I wanted more than anything . . . how much would I have missed? What stories would never have been told? What friendships would never have been formed?

Fear is one controlling son of a gun. But overcoming it? That’s a sweet victory.

One we are all capable of, if only we’d believe it.

The words will come for me again. In time. They are there already. I know this.

I just need to believe it.

Cling to it.

And trust myself with the gift again.

 

Secrets And Second Chances

Tags

Courage, Encouragement, Faith, Secerts, Second Chances

I shared this post over at INSPY Romance last week, thought it was worth the repost.

“I didn’t lie, exactly, I just didn’t tell you the truth.”

Ever heard that before? Ever thought it? Said it? Done it?

You don’t have to raise your hand. We’re all friends here, right?

Secrets are funny things. Sometimes they can be good, like a surprise you’re planning for a friend or spouse, a birthday party or a trip out of town – the good kind of secret that it’s okay to keep. And then there are the other kinds of secrets. The ones that keep us up at night, haunt our waking hours and gnaw at that place deep inside until we just … can’t … take it anymore.

Maybe you have no idea what I’m talking about. Maybe you’re just so honest that you’ve never kept one of those sticky secrets. Never had to. But chances are, somebody you know has. And maybe they had good reason. But what’s that old saying? It all comes out in the wash … Or something like that.

And then what?

Okay, here’s my confession. I love writing about this stuff. I really do. Maybe there’s something wrong with me, but I love putting my characters in the most awful situations. Taking them places they never dreamed of going, pushing them down into deep dark tunnels that seem unending. I like to let them wallow in depths of despair, if you will.

Why? Am I just a little warped perhaps? No. At least I don’t think I am.

You see, in real life, sooner or later, we all go there. We all find ourselves in spots that make us uncomfortable, places we never ever imagined we’d wind up in, and we know we have no business being there, but by the time we figure that out, we’re not sure how to get out. Or how to tell anyone about it.

Secrets … whatever they may be, big or small … the secrets we keep can lead us into sin. But here’s the thing – and it’s really cool, so pay attention – God’s grace is bigger than any secret we can hide.

Seriously. How amazing is that? Yeah, you know, right? You’ve experienced it. He’s brought you out of that dark place, revealed the secrets that shadowed your every move, dealt with you and them, and wiped them away. Clean. Gone. Like it never happened.

Except it did and sometimes the guilt comes crawling back around, threatens to jump you and take you down. Right? And then you’re on your knees again.

Grace. Mercy. Forgiveness. Don’t we all struggle with the magnitude of those words? Don’t we all, at some point, wonder whether we’re really truly deserving of such astounding love?

I do. My characters do. And I’m pretty sure sometimes you do too.

This is why I write. This is why I let my characters go to those deep dark places. Because I know what it feels like down there. And I know what rescue and mercy and forgiveness feel like too. And oh, I so desperately want you, my friends, to know that feeling. To truly accept that there is nothing you can do, no secret you can bury, that could ever diminish the depths of God’s great love for you.

It’s a journey, isn’t it? Sometimes it’s so long and tiring and we just want to give up. But then someone comes along and grabs your hand and offers a smile, and you know you can do this. This thing called life.

We can do it together.

Are you willing?

Game on.

Here We Go Again…

Tags

Courage, Faith, Grace, Perseverance

“How are you?”

Lately, when I’m asked this question, I want to roll my eyes and mutter, how much time do you have? I think if I really answered the question honestly, they’d never ask again. But I slap on a smile and say, “Just fine, how are you?” Because that’s how you answer that question. It’s how I’ve always answered it and no doubt how I will continue to answer it.

Shields up.

Getting real in person has never been my forte. Funny that, because I have no problem spilling blood on the page. It’s easier somehow, to rant or wail or simply voice something so heavy you don’t dare say it loud incase someone actually hears you…I can shoot off on Facebook or Twitter in my usual passive aggressive style and people think it’s kind of funny. Sometimes they don’t. But by then it’s too late. My faulty filter strikes again.

I’m looking forward to seeing the back end of a year that’s possibly been one of the most difficult times I’ve had to walk through. Emotionally, spiritually, for a myriad of reasons. Oh, no, you wouldn’t know it. Well, some will. I have my confidants and thank God for them too because they talk me off the ledges and call me out on the crazy. But then there’ve been times when there is simply nothing to say. And I’m right back down in that pit again.

It doesn’t really matter who or what shoved me down there. What matters is I went. I gave in and quit fighting and said to hell with it, I can’t do this anymore. And the fall didn’t hurt one bit. I didn’t curl up my nose at the dank, musty smell or squint through the darkness. I swallowed acrid air and settled in on hard cold ground and thought, I deserve this. This is where I should be.

The problem with pits is once you’re in them, you forget how to get out. And so you get comfortable. And pretty soon nothing makes sense and all you can hear is your own voice whispering loser, loser, loser.

Know what I mean? Ever felt like a complete waste of space? Thought everyone would be much better off without you because all you do is cause grief and pain and conflict? Yeah. That’s pretty much what being in the pit feels like. It doesn’t matter if it’s dark, because you can’t see through the tears anyway.

But pretty soon, you just get tired. You miss life the way it used to be. You miss the good. The laughter. The peace. You want to break the chains. You want out but you don’t know how to get there. Sometimes you don’t even know how to take that first step.

For me, it happens like a push. I make that final mistake, the decision that just wrecks it all, and suddenly the lights come on. And then comes the guilt, the shame, the mortification and the God, no, not again, can’t you just fix me already…

Sure. I guess He can. But I have to want Him to. I have to decide to let Him. And then I have to work with Him and not against Him.

I have to get out of the pit.

Because the view from the mountaintop is pretty sweet. I’ve seen it. I remember it. Today, the vision is hazy, but I know it’s there. And I know I’ll get there again. SoI’m going to fight my battles, stand up to my demons and tell them to go back where they came from. I don’t feel strong enough. Not right now. In this moment.

But I will be.

Because I’m not doing this again. Somehow, I have to find the courage to believe that I am worth more than this.

And that’s hard. You know?

But maybe my sharing, bleeding a little on the page, is that first step. Maybe you’re there too, scrabbling in damp dirt and darkness, wondering how to get out.

Maybe you need a hand to pull you up. I know I do. I just have to ask.

Maybe we need to find that courage. To hold on to that faith. To feel a little grace and know that somehow, we’re gonna make it.

Maybe we can make that climb together. Because I think it’s time.

Don’t you?