Hey.
I'm here.
I'm not sure what to say.
I had dreams about this blog. I kept saying I was writing it just for me. But I'm realizing I was hoping - desperately hoping - someone would read it. I wanted to be clever, deep in a way people could hold and quote, viral in my wisdom.
I was hoping for what we maybe all hope for - acceptance, popularity, security in who I am.
That's a lot of pressure to put on someone who quite possibly doesn't know you, or isn't prepared to commit to your well being, much less sacrificially love you.
Here's where I am at "0:dark thirty" in the morning.
I need Jesus.
I haven't written a thing for what, 2 months? I don't know. We've been in shell shock. Dad died in October, the kids came home and we had a simple time of worship with just the 5 of us. We couldn't have a service due to Covid and my mom being 95.
But then we all got Covid anyway in December.
We wash our hands. Sanitize and mask up. But we got it anyway. All of us.
Rich ended up in the hospital on Christmas Eve and we had Christmas Day by phone with him. We were all too numb to care what we got. We were just so grateful he was getting the care he needed and that the rest of us were recovering.
Covid is an ugly disease, but loneliness is uglier. Covid is exhausting, but depression is more exhausting. Covid is a life robber, but unforgiven sin is more life robbing - it kills you while you are still living.
But in the grieving, in the numbness, in the aftermath of an election that split my country into the most bizarre behavior - I have hope.
I have Jesus.
Even at this minute, I'm hesitant to write this. I feel the pressure to be acceptable to my culture. To be extremely careful, because "gosh dern it" I don't want to be grouped with people who use the name of Jesus to do cruel things, stupid things, deceiving things, selfish things...
We seem to have made Jesus so cheap. We make him nothing more than a keychain or a bobble head on a dashboard that we forget as we rush to the next "thing" we "have" to do. Shouldn't he be driving? Wouldn't it be better to have a friend we talk to?
(exhale)
So here I am. Trying to be real. Feeling the need to write, but not sure where it will take me. Have you ever felt compelled to do something that you're completely unqualified for?
And, once again, I'm trying to write this book called 7 Dresses. I've even signed up for a course that will hopefully push me to action
But I'm scared.
For every dress I painted, there was a story. And every story came at a cost.
I been trying to write this book for over years. And every draft of this book has memories of getting knocked down, hitting walls, and becoming gun shy. I'm not talking about little things like the store running out of my favorite lunch meat. I'm talking about scary, life threatening level stuff.
But I love Jesus.
If he's asking me to write this book, then maybe, for once, I'll get in the passenger seat and see where it goes.
As for this blog? Honestly? I have no idea what it's supposed to be or what I'll write next. I'm done trying to be wonderful.
I am loved by Jesus.
That's the full circle. Nothing is more wonderful than that. NOthing I can write will bring a more loving response than the simplicity of showing up to someone who listens.
Jesus loves me, this I know.
It's just that simple.
But never confuse simple things with shallow.
I love you, Jesus.
I'd like to give you this blog.
love,
