It happened Friday instead of Saturday. Company came when the house was in a mess and I was still in my PJ's. Well, not exactly, but that's how it felt. As the featured writer for our story circle, my secretive writings were "outed" earlier than I had planned and I was unprepared. Typically I can be found sitting cross legged on the floor of our walk-in closet, pen hovering over lined notepads, my only audience the clothes and shoes that line the walls. No visitors here.
I had been striving all week to put together that first official post. Well written English compositions and clever Christmas letters hardly qualified me for this exposure. What had I been thinking? Suddenly everything I had ever written sounded sappy and flawed.
It's all rather silly, this fear of vulnerability. What I think I want - the praise of fellow pilgrims - can become a road block to something beautiful and life giving. The authors I love are the ones who let me into their struggles but bathe them in His light. Their honesty and messiness allow me to safely enter in and catch a glimpse of majesty. Why would I want to offer anything less? Ironically, all my striving this past week ended in complete helplessness. And isn't that what we are without Him anyway?
So if you don't mind an untidy place where God is a work, you are welcome here. It's a place where we can be ourselves. I may still be on the closet floor but I'm making it an Open House.
No comments:
Post a Comment