I used to write page after page on my old blogs about my life and the things I'm learning, the challenges I wanted to give, and the truths I was picking up. I quit. Then I quit thinking on whatever it was that drove me to write before I quit. And then I had nothing to say.
I'm not going to pretend that was a totally positive choice (even though a guarded heart/words are always a good idea to some extent). I haven't had anything fresh and new to share for a very long time. I haven't spoken from my heart, and I forget why. But I want to get back to where my heart was; constantly thinking on God and the way His hand reaches down into the little places of my life and shifts it around and creates me.
So I'm back. I want to write again. And I want to have things of substance to write on; things that maybe you'll care to read, whoever you are, and if not, things that I will care to re-read to remind myself of who I am in Him and what He has to pour out of me. I could miss it so easily. I could let it slip through my fingers. . . and lose whatever it is I am to be. I know I'm more than my words, but my words were always my tool to carve out my soul and discover where I am; to beat the Truth into my own brain and then let it imbue my spirit like watercolours running over the deep, thirsty surface of the canvas.
I've been busy being free; untying my heart from what was and re-tying it to other things. And I won't look back and say it hasn't been worth it; oh, I regret, and I have lived out my life in storybook lines only to find it is no childhood fantasy. But I move on. And my book is now more grown up, and it has a lot more weight to it, but it's my story; and it's one I don't want to hold the pen to any more. Let Him write it. I'm a poor poet compared to Him.
And that's really the first point I want to make: "I'm a poor poet compared to Him." That is a fine comparison. I truly am a poor poet compared to Him. But I could so easily compare my life to other lives, like a child who stares back and forth between his or her little situation and the situation of another child. "But what about HIM?" I could whine, and pout, and put my fists on my hips, or I could sit dejected, my head hanging low with little droplets of tears plopping on my lap, "I am not as good compared to..." or asking, "Why didn't I ever get a break like ____?" and on and on I could compare my situation to another.
In John 21, Yeshua asks Peter, "Simon son of John, do you love me?"
"Yes, Lord," he said, "you know that I love you."
Jesus said, "Feed my lambs."
Three times, this goes on. Yeshua was pressing him, Peter was being tested and it even hurt him to be tested that hard. But he had betrayed Yeshua. He was the one who had sworn to be there to the death, and had been one to run and lie that he never knew his dearest friend & his Messiah.
Finally, Yeshua said, "Follow me!" Peter replied by looking around and seeing John, another disciple, "Lord, what about him?" Yeshua answered, "If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You follow me."
Integrity calls me to be whole; sound; adherent to the morals and Truths I stand by; undivided and complete. Integrity must be me standing, strongly standing within my own place in God, not shape shifting to follow what occurs around me. A fish swims by watching the rest of the school, its movements synchronized and flawless, but to put it on its own, what will guide it? I must resist the Comparisons and call my own heart to Integrity.
I must call my own heart to its reply when He commands (not suggests), "You must follow me." There can only be One heart I compare with my own and I must be willing to say, "I am a poor poet compared to Him." I am a poor poet. But my pen is not in my hand any more. Therefore, let my life be compared to the greatest of history; the most glorious of songs. For such lives and creation were never formed by the ones who held them, but by the One they compared themselves to: the Beautiful One Who held the pen.
My life is a blank page. Let it begin.
August 23, 2009