There’s something rising in me. There’s this dream, this hope that I’ve hidden on the shelf and pulled out occasionally over the years. It’s a story…fiction, but in a way it’s very real. It’s the story of me and you and redemption’s song.
I hold it tight to my heart afraid to let it go. Afraid to open it up to the sun and risk the possibility it’s stupid or wrong or talentless. It’s easier to keep it hidden in the dark spaces between binders than take a chance.
I desperately want to pull it off and show it to you. But vulnerable is not my strong suit.
I’d rather fold my arms across my chest and sit in the corner. Or put on the face of bravado and take charge. I’m very good at pretending. I’ve been the good girl, the perfectionist. I’ve been the fear-liver.
I’ve held it together when the pressure’s too much.
But life without fear? I’ve tasted it. I’ve walked its road in many areas of my life. But here? With this? Dreams tucked close to my heart?
If I let them go and stand wide open with dreams in hand for the world to see and judge and laugh at and inspect with a dark red pen…
I fear I’ll be torn apart. That my idea, my words, my story will be marked as my deepest fear: not good enough.
Instead of facing the unknown with real bravery, I hide.
Being vulnerable is scary. To lay it all out there and say, “Here it is. This is me. My work…I hope you like it.”
But it has to happen or I’ll never know. If I don’t take steps of faith, if I don’t move from fear into faith then I’m really living in disobedience. That’s not to say if I walk in faith everything will succeed, but if God says, “Write” and I say, “Later…,” then what kind of faith is that?
If God’s said, “Write your words” and I hide, am I trusting him? He’s not saying I’ll be published or that everyone will love it.
He’s saying, “Come, give Me the gift of your words. Come to the altar and lay it all bare.”
It’s scary. Part of me is ready to jump in with both feet, while the rest is barely able to dangle my toes over the edge.
But when fear wins, faith loses and I am disobedient.
And I come back to this, Is God worthy of my trust? Do I trust that I will be secure in His everlasting hand? Can I take His hand and be confident that wherever he may lead me I will not fall as long as I am faithful?
He is. I do. I will.
So I write.
There’s this conference I’ve heard about over the last few years and let the brief thought flow through that I should go. But as each year rolls around I forget. And then I remember when I hear people talk about it. I tell myself, I could do that. But when I think of the nitty gritty of a professional writer’s conference and pitching a proposal I draw back.
It’s reminded me of an (in)courage party a few months back. Do you remember? The one where we shared what we would do if we knew we wouldn’t fail?
I threw out that we should start a If I Knew I Wouldn’t Fail Support Group and never really did anything about it. You wanna know why? Fear.
Would anyone be interested? Would anyone show up? Would I have an embarrassingly empty linky?
Well…Friday, it’s on. Come back ready to share what you would do (ie, what you will do).
And if I have an empty linky, I’ll hold His hand and stand secure.
Love to you all.