Tag: give up

“Who Told You That?”

It’s been a few months since I’ve posted to my blog – nine to be exact. I’ve written a few things but they just didn’t feel right. They didn’t feel worthy of posting, so some wait patiently in a notebook and some quickly found the nearest trash can. Despite the fact that I have known for a long time that God has called me to write, nothing I wrote felt good enough to me.

This week I realized why.

Monday I pulled out my copy of The Quest by Beth Moore. It’s a Bible study I started a few months ago but didn’t finish. I started reading the answers I had written back then in response to some of Beth’s questions, and I realized why my writing “wasn’t good enough” but I didn’t do anything that day to change it.

Then I received a message today from God. Well, the message was actually from Facebook, but God can and will use whatever means He needs to in order to get His children to listen. I heard His message weeks ago when a handful of people asked me in the same week if I was still writing. Then I heard His message through Beth this week. Today’s message from Him sunk in when I received a notification that said, “1,014 people who like Forgiven Faith haven’t heard from you in a while. Write a post.”

Four hours later that number has increased by five. I don’t know where all these likes have come from. I haven’t posted since November of 2017 and the last I checked it was only in the 300s. My writing is not enough to attract 1,000 readers and I don’t promote, so I don’t know how my likes increased that much. I do know God has used that number to convict me.

God told me four years ago to write. I fumbled through writing for about three years. Some of my posts were terrible, but some were pretty good.

Somewhere along the way, I guess a year ago, I made a grievous error. I listened to a newly published author who is not a faith-based writer or even a faith-based person. That counsel was very discouraging and I have been unable to focus my thoughts on writing since that time. I learned the feel of writers block.

The counsel I received from Beth Moore this week is helping to reverse the impact of the false counsel I internalized all those months ago, however. There are two questions she posed that really spoke to me. The first felt like a knife in the chest and the second, a knife in the back.

“Where are you?”

When Adam and Eve first sinned, when they ate that infamous fruit they immediately knew they were wrong to do it and they hid from God in the garden. God knew exactly where they were but He wanted them to come to Him, so in Genesis chapter one verse nine, “the Lord God called to the man, ‘Where are you?'”

God has been asking me that same question in more ways than I can remember and today He sent it to me by Facebook. I was knowingly ignoring His directions and was not writing. I was coming up with every possible excuse to explain why I had not done what He had instructed just like Adam and Eve did. I had thrust that knife into my own chest.

Then God (and Beth) asked, “Who told you that…? (Genesis 1:11)”

Who told me my writing was unworthy of publishing? Who told me I was doing it all wrong? Who told me I was wasting my time writing faith-based blogs and stories? Who did I allow to stick a knife in my back?

It wasn’t God who said any of those things to me; and, since it wasn’t God, why was I listening?

I’m back. Good or bad blog post, I’m back. I pray I don’t disappoint.

New Happiness Despite Old Circumstances

If someone had told me a year ago that I would be where I am today, I would have told them they were crazy. Not only would I have never allowed things to spin this far out of control, I would never have been able to survive as things are now.

If someone had told me six months ago that everything that my life was would be gone in three months, I would have told them they were as wrong as wrong could be.

If someone had told me three months ago that I would soon be happier than I had been in over two decades, I would have told them they had no idea what they were talking about and obviously didn’t know me very well. At that time I was too devestated to really, truly function or see any possibility of happiness in my future.

Guess what. In each of these instances I would have been the one who was wrong. When I look back on the multitude of major changes that have taken place during this difficult time in my life, I visualize a big box that my life was carefully packed away in. Some of my life was packed neatly and organized and some was simply thrown into the box with the rest. Regardless of how or when it was placed in the box, each item was very valuable to me. Once my whole life was packed away to keep it safe, someone snatched the box from the place l had hidden it for safety.  They flipped it upside down and shook until the entire box, my life, was empty, handed that empty box to me, stomped on much of the contents and then smugly walked away.

I felt lost at first, frozen and unable to think. After some time had passed, I knelt down on the floor and began to try to put everything back in the box, but the box seemed much smaller now. After a while I realized that the broken pieces of my life wouldn’t fit in the box any more. I had a difficult time fitting everything in the box before it was dumped and was now faced with the task of trying to shove every broken piece, big or small, into a space never made to hold so much. It couldn’t be done.

With tears flowing down my face, I removed each broken piece of my life and spread them neatly around the floor beside the box. I gazed upon them and mourned my losses. How could I continue without these pieces of my life whether they were whole or broken? I tried desperately to find a way to glue the shattered pieces back together. I insisted I would succeed, but after a while I realized I was lying to myself. No amount of glue or tape could ever fix these shattered pieces and make them whole again, and they could not fit back into the box I held no matter how I tried. I didn’t know what to do.

I knew I couldn’t go on without these pieces but they couldn’t be fixed. I cried and I cried…a lot, and then I began to pack the unbroken items back into the box. Even these unbroken pieces were marred in some way by scratches, bruises, dents or cracks, but they were still intact despite their scars. As I placed the last of the unbroken pieces of my life into the box, I saw something through the tears welled up in my eyes. My box was full and not because it was smaller. My box had grown in size and the scarred but unbroken pieces of my life that now resided in this box had grown, too. 

The box I packed my life into was completely full and it no longer seemed like anything was missing. The shattered pieces on the floor around me were no longer important. I had thought for over two decades that each item I had packed away was extremely important and irreplaceable. I had packed each of my precious “belongings” away to protect them, but all that I had really accomplished was to hold on to them for two decades longer than God wanted me to. These things had no real value and actually lowered the value of the other pieces of my life.

My life outside of my imaginary box has changed considerably. Some of the changes were painful to live through but each and every one of them was needed and has brought me to a new place in my life…a new place where I feel respected, wanted and loved.

Isaiah 43:2 says, “When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.”

I thought I would not survive the complete change my life has been through; but, as it says in Isaiah 43:2, I did not drown or burn. I made it and I am happy for the first time in many, many years.

Pearl

I’ve always loved horses but I’ve never been able to have one. My husband had to take care of them when he was growing up and didn’t want anything to do with them as an adult. Now I have Pearl.

My son’s girlfriend introduced me to Pearl but not with the intent of Pearl becoming mine. Pearl and a beautiful Arabian horse belonged to a man who was no longer able to keep them. My son’s girlfriend was given the offer to take the Arabian as her own but there was one catch. She couldn’t have the beautiful thoroughbred unless she took the old nag, too. Both horses were taken to the vet prior to us seeing them. We were told we would most definitely need to have a vet come out to put Pearl down. She was in horrible health and it was unlikely she could recover at her age. This was our plan…at least until I saw her unload from that trailer.

Pearl was in horrible physical condition, but she carried her head with such spirit I couldn’t let the rest of my family give up on her. It’s been a slow process and rather expensive and I don’t know if she will ever fit the picture in my mind of what I want her to look like, but she’s not a lost cause.

Pearl reminds me of so many people I’ve met in my life. We’ve all known someone, maybe many someones, the world considers a lost cause. Some of these “lost causes” take a lot of time and effort to save. It can be exhausting and sometimes we need to remember that God doesn’t always expect you to be the one to “fix” everyone. Sometimes you are supposed to sit back and pray while someone else does the work. But just as I felt it would have been inhumane to give up on Pearl, it would be inhumane to consider lost causes as forever lost.