This morning was blurred by the misty fog of this unending winter. I have my morning place arranged so that I gaze towards the statue of my Savannah girl sweet and sullen today.The greenish hue of the face, dulled by the wintry wetness, causing an affect of disdain, a lonely look.
I struggled to write this week. I worried that my words might bring attention, concern, murmuring about my seriousness, sadness.
I’ve heard comments about the honesty of my writing.
Been told it’s clear I’ve gone through some difficult days.
I thought I should write a silly post.
I should maybe stop sharing.
Maybe just publish on the blog.
“Friends” wouldn’t wonder why I’m so serious, so openly thankful and so compelled to tell of doubt, fear, worry.
And yet, there are the handful who connect, who say Thank you for your posts.
They’re brave. They know the grace of the vulnerable share.
” Grace grows best in winter.” C. H. Spurgeon
So, if I write from a place of struggle, a spilling of my story, it’s because of the good that has come; the good that will come…Because God and because of God.
Perhaps, honest and transparent vulnerability is the call of only the few who know the worth of brave and open truth telling.
A friend once said, “Lisa, you write about the things we all fear, feel…but would never have the courage to share.”
My Bible has its pages marked with places that reassure the value of my story, of yours. Tiny notations of “memoir” or “truth”.
Truths, too important to not speak of
Truths like this:
You have turned my mourning into joyful dancing. You have taken away my clothes of mourning and clothed me with joy, that I might sing praises to You and not be silent. O’ Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever! Psalm 30:11-12
Honestly and bravely
Because, my steps are directed by the Lord. He delights in every detail of my life. I may stumble, but I won’t fall, for the Lord holds me by the hand. Psalm 37:23-24
Quietly, confidently…my strength, my assurance.