On Fridays a bunch of brave writers gather here to all spend 5 collective minutes writing on a single prompt. It is here that fear falls away, because scared is the new brave. I’m not sure what I’m writing tonight. I still feel as if I’m walking on the wobbly rocks between sand and shore – making my way back from a break. Words flow, but they feel more deeply personal – not everything I would normally say. But this is what we do here. We say. I count on this community to hold me in times like this. When there are more questions than answers and even the familiar is questionable. Always, I say: Yes, this community opens wide and invites you in to share. Come and visit and read. You will be blessed.
This week: Grateful
This is the heart I strive for. I fail mightily on a daily basis. My impatient frustration; so often impervious to the idea that I stand redeemed amidst a shower of grace – it gnaws and twists and thrusts inside me – wanting to raise an angry head. Wanting to complain. Wanting to make some noise.
I am ever weary of this conflict in my heart. So ready to give up this struggle with a nature that is all too human (as if I was expecting something better, something different). I cry, and pray, and hope, and dream, and count, and order another book from Barnes and Noble and wish desperately that these new words of wisdom will lead me to a grateful heart.
I sink deep in to Psalms, Proverbs, Galatians, Ephesians. His Word. The Word. All the words looking for the one word that will lead me to that elusive word: grateful.
I am ever grateful for the things I can see: I have more books within arm’s reach than some people will touch in a lifetime. I have a beautiful child where some still long for the sound of one, blessed heartbeat. Though I struggle with my husband from time to time, he cares for me and is patient like no other. I have friends whose care and nurture of me is like warm sunlight on my skin after a long rain. I am blessed.
I am even grateful for the things that ache and burn and hurt. It is hard to say that out loud, but the painful dark and the lonely roads have shaped my heart and my words and make me more willing to risk vulnerability again to help heal a similar hurt I hear in another’s voice. The sharp twinge or step that makes me stumble makes me pause and consider those who cannot run as freely or move as smoothly. These things bring understanding and compassion. And yet …
Oh my heart that is never satisfied let me chase my way back to grace and to a sanctuary of holiness where God alone is enough. Where He is all that I see. And gratitude abounds.
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