Add to the Box

Dear Child,

I dreamed about you long before you existed. I have no idea whether you’ll have my independent streak, or your daddy’s merciful heart. I don’t know if you’ll have my ever-changing eye color, or your daddy’s cool blue eyes and cheeky grin.

I don’t even know if you’ll ever exist.

I don’t know if I’ll carry you, adopt you, lose you, or do all three. I don’t know if you’ll have your dad’s rock solid medical record, or my terrifying one. I don’t know if your personality will clash with us, or if you’ll enjoy being in our family. There are so many things I don’t know.

I just know I want you.

We started a project for you, and to be honest, I’m terrified. I’m not terrified that you won’t like it, but I’m terrified that you won’t understand it. It’s a treasure box filled with notecards. Some of them filled with prayers for you. Many of them, though, are filled with verses which have either brought us closer to our Maker King Jesus, or encouraged us to stay where we already are.

I’ll be honest, Kiddo, as much as I want to help you succeed, I want to give you the heart to love the Jesus those notecards talk about. My prayer is that you won’t walk by that treasure box without discovering the Christ who is our Treasure. I pray your relationship won’t hinge on whether Daddy and I are growing in Christ, doing well in our marriage, or even still alive.

We can promise to strive after Christ with you, but I pray we never hold you back simply because your desire to know Him may look different than we had ever imagined for you. I may want you more than I ever thought possible, but my heart’s cry is that you’ll never want me, your dad, success, or cultural security, more than you want the Jesus who loves you more than we ever could.

This world–our culture–is no longer accepting of people who are sold out for Jesus. Be a radical, Darlin’, regardless of what our world may say. Don’t close your eyes while you run towards Jesus, because if you do that, you’ll be blind to the people you should stop for in order to bring them with you. But run, Sweetheart. Run after Jesus. It’s all we’ve ever wanted for you.

Help me add to the treasure box, Little One.

When My Talent Died

So, I’ve stopped writing. Much to the chagrin of former journalism professors, old fans, and many family members, I’ve just…stopped. I still work in communications, so, when deadlines arise, I sit down with my trusty li’l iPad and I spit out something. Usually, I turn it in with the thought, “Really? That’s all you’ve got? You’re a published author and a Journalism graduate. You’re barely scratching the surface here. You can do better than this!” 

And somehow, despite my angst, God still makes my writing impactful. I just really don’t understand how He does such a thing. I still know how to write. I’ve just forgotten how to write for myself. (Hence the reason this blog hasn’t been touched in two months.)

Let me explain. My parents handed me an old laptop when I was fourteen and told me to write. My life had been so packed with medical trials, traumas, and troubles, they just wanted me to have an outlet. Without actually knowing what I was doing, I set out to make my pain make sense, and I took advantage of that outlet.

I needed to find God when my body gave me reasons to believe God was dead. So, I let my pain infiltrate page, after page, after page of defining Jesus within my very lonely and hurting heart.

I found my talent within writing. Writing somehow made my pain beautiful. Writing gave me a way to understand that a traumatic and painful life didn’t erase God. Writing helped me see that pain simply chips away at religious pretenses and makes you feel every inch of your desire to follow an invisible God.

But now, almost a decade and a half later, my life is not run by pain or medical trauma. By now, I’ve told all my stories, I’ve cried all my tears, and truly, my heart is filled with joy. I love it! … I just don’t know how to write about it, or write within it. I’m at a total peace for the first time since I can remember, and all the sudden, my need to write has disappeared.

The funny part is, God has made it clear I’m not done writing. It’s just I no longer have to write for myself. In other words, a blank page doesn’t give me anxiety. It’s just a reality. When God wants me to start writing, the fire in my bones comes back and nothing can hold me back. I’m okay with that.

Now my journey is learning how to let my talent include joy.