What Are You Afraid Of?

Welcome to July! It's been a while, I know. The month of June has come and gone, and I have not published a word. That doesn't mean I haven't been writing, however. I write almost daily. Pages. But I have been struggling to post here. The posts I have begun recently, devolve into opinion, or twist and turn themselves into something that doesn't even make sense to me. Thoughts that developed so fluidly, so completely in my study, seem to fragment the minute I attempt to make them relevant to you, the reader. Revelations that burst into mind like fireworks in a night sky, fizzle to cold ash when I imagine a stranger logging in, clicking a link, and thinking, "So what?" It began to seem as if I was having some sort of technical error: transferring ideas into words and punctuation, taking truths that I knew were relevant and magnificent and doing them justice literally.

So, this week I began a study on fear. Now, I know that doesn't seem to make sense if I was experiencing a technical error, but we tell ourselves all kinds of untruths. That we can change him because he has a good heart. That it isn't really stealing if we need it badly enough or we overpaid on that other item a few weeks ago. But, something was telling me I was in denial. Was this about fear? I have known fear; I know how it can manifest itself -- anxiety, altering who I am to please others, attempting nothing, reacting to everything. But what I wouldn't admit, was fear can be something as simple as an answer to the question, "What am I afraid of?" That might be a bit obvious to you, but to someone who spent years of daily existence (and certainly not living) in the unrelenting bondage of fear, to the point that fear itself became my "safe place," being afraid was something that happened on a roller coaster: a momentary belly flip that stopped the second the coaster leveled off; a concern, a hiccough, certainly not the same governing beast of fear. The answer to my question came immediately, and I was afraid.

"I am afraid I won't be relevant. I am afraid I won't be big enough," I wrote. I was afraid of today's post sounding exactly like last week's post, exactly like last June's post. I was afraid of posting some hum-drum housewife theology that any Karen living in a vanilla world and raising honor roll children would or could post. I was tired of waiting for "the big story on Action News" to burst into my life and make my story one that would reach thousands for Christ, and afraid that story would never come. I was afraid of checking the stats on my blog and finding only four people had read a post I thought everyone should read, a post I believe had truly been inspired by the Holy Spirit, a post riddled with truths that excited me so much I could not wait to put them to print. And I'm not as certain all of that was as much about fear as it was self-ish-ness, but there it was in black and white. 

As I read it over and over, a very hard truth emerged: Broken to Breathless had become my blog. Somewhere in my heart, though I prayed as I studied, though I prayed as I wrote, I had assumed ownership over the whole. I had been writing B2B for over ten years, and though I loved it, I wanted something in return. I had a plan. I had a goal. God was not moving at the pace I desired. God was obviously not conforming to my plan. God was not living up to my expectations. God had not delivered the increase I had demanded. And I had ditched the One this was all supposed to point toward; I had placed the success of the message squarely on my shoulders and set out alone. I should have been afraid. 

Now it was time to pray. To ask forgiveness for stealing from my King. To ask forgiveness for demanding anything of Him. To ask forgiveness for seeking my own glory and my own way. To ask forgiveness for making any of this about me. To ask forgiveness for seeking anything in return, anything but God Himself. To ask forgiveness for being anything other than an obedient, surrendered servant of His will. And to give it all back. The gift, the words, the timeline, the purpose, the goal, the audience -- all of it -- back to the One and Only who so rightfully deserves it, to the One from whom it came, to the One who will use it for His glory.

So, this is me. Unafraid of vanilla or sameness. This is me, obeying and posting nothing more or nothing less than what God directs me to post. This is me, expecting fruit -- however long it takes, whether I see it or I don't -- because God has promised His word does not return empty, and not because I have "nailed it," or because I have reached some chronological milestone. This is me drawing close to the One in whom I trust that I might obey regardless of all else, and find joy in that obedience. This is me, trusting that, the absence of fruit as humanity defines it, is not the absence of fruit as God created it. Soli Deo gloria.