To them God has chosen to make known among the Gentiles the glorious riches of this mystery, which is Christ in you, the hope of glory. 1 Corinthians 1:27
Ernest Hemingway said, “The Writer must write what he has to say, not speak it.” I have hidden behind these words for a long time.
Journals held my words safely, until at last the pages felt confining, the voice spilled there longed for freedom. I wrote in journals my whole life because they were the safe places I knew to go. Even as a child, I quickly learned that what goes in must find release. People are driven mad by what they refuse to let go. I found sanity and freedom through the one habit of writing.
I beat the system through journaling. I did. I, that one child, escaped madness, through journaling. A childhood of unimaginable abuse and neglect was survived. A lifetime of rebellion, anger and hate was recorded. Confusion, misunderstanding, and chaos scrawled on pages.
Yet, even still…knowing that this act in time was instrumental in my survival, it was not the only key. Not journaling alone. If not for the presence of the one invisible Friend, that quietly waited for that moment in time when I would find the power or lack thereof, to bend the knee and heart pledging allegiance, as unfaithful as it was, to Him. He in His grace and patience accepted that plea, and stepped into the unholy scribbles that laid bare, right there, on paper. This one time and continuing transformation continues to this day. I see His handiwork, note His ink flow through my pen. Words I know not come through and He shares His Spirit and Truth, healing mercy- using me, a conduit of grace. Using me, not as the world has sought to use me, but instead as a precious, beloved instrument, exactly as I, in the way He had in mind before the foundation of the World, meant for me to be used. For His glory. And as I yield, I am made whole by this journey. My journey from pen to paper began with the unholy, angry rants, rambles and scribblings of a girl out of control, who desired nothing more than to be in control. Yet in relinquishing that control, I found freedom and peace. As I yield more to His Holiness in my life, I continue to see Him show up in my words.
I’m on a journey, and finding my voice. Not the voice that survived, but the voice that always has been within, from the beginning. For He knew me before I was knit in the womb. Knew me beyond the purpose and plans. Knew me when I was voiceless…breath of His vision.
I am on a journey, even now, to be unafraid to use me voice…even off the paper. For His glory. As I lay my fears down, I feel His hand continuing to mold me, shape me, grow and guide me, all according to His glorious plan.
He has led me, a closet writer, to a spacious place, a safe pasture, where others come and go, grazing peacefully, exchanging knowing glances and everyday graces. He has brought me to the place I dared not dream existed. Yet, I know, He has only just begun to reveal Himself to me. May grace be evermore my greatest teacher.
“Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can’t and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it” Robert Frost