I had to struggle to figure out how to log in to Blogger today. Clearly it has been a long time. And yet, I am here--partly because writing something is a whole lot better than writing nothing. Partly because I remember how writing makes me come alive. And partly because of Love.
Love has shaped my life, and recently I've been able to see it over the past two years. I couldn't write about it for so long because, frankly, my life became depressing for awhile around the time I wrote last. I returned from the Middle East, alive and excited about what I had seen and learned about God, yet I immediately slumped into a kind of depression, loneliness, and lack of purpose.
And then God blasted a door of lies apart so He could show me more of Himself on the other side. Yet this door was very precious to me and an integral part of my identity. I realized that I had lived most of my life believing a lie and I didn't even know who I was or how to have real friendships.
It was a murky winter. I didn't have the sight or the clarity to blog at all then because my emotions were too raw to share. If I had tried to voice them, they might have sounded like the screams of a victim being chewed alive. However, I can say confidently today that I am healed and whole, so hopefully I can describe what God has shown me more cohesively in a way that I hope is edifying. But I am getting ahead of myself.
If God wills it, I intend to tell you more about this journey, but it will have to come one chapter at a time. If I knew I was going to write it all out now, I would never have started. But now that I have told you, I feel more like I've committed.
But before I give those chapters specifically, I may share other things that I have written in the meantime, and perhaps you will start to guess at the other story I hope to tell you.
I will tell you this though: God's love is infinitely real, and if our hearts truly started to comprehend this, we wouldn't just feel "nice." We would be transformed from the inside out and view the world very differently.
As I contemplated blogging again, I wondered if it was time to start a new blog. Something fresh, not stigmatized by my old writing style and stories attached to it from my teenagehood. Yet I decided that starting fresh would defeat the purpose of my blog. This isn't a place where readers can read about a person who has always been put together and written perfect prose that was always either entertaining or spiritually keen. This is the journey of a pilgrim who has been mute and is learning to sing and testify of her Redeemer. And to destroy the early stories would be to erase a part of her and her journey. Because no journey is perfect, even if an imperfect pilgrim made it seem so in her blithe desires to be positive. But the journey is most certainly worth it.
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