In the case of you're being convicted.

That time I almost gave up.
Or the whole two weeks. Because really, my life has been on the verge of ridiculous. Great. Jammed pact. But full of ridiculousness. & the good Lord knows it. So these words come like a rebirthing process. Glorified. Bitter. Short. Sweet. & a little bit like a rare gem.

& for a good story.
Once I had a good friend (good must be my word for today). He told me about the time he retired from music.

Openly. On a stage. Probably in a local bar. In the microphone. "Hey guys, I am officially retiring from music. So long."

This really happened. & I thought, what are you talking about you nut because I couldn't grasp how someone who hasn't 'made it' could retire.

I have sat on this story for months,
& then I got it. & I wish I didn't.

 

oh, & that another time.
I remember months back, when dear Sarah was beginning her blog. & I remember it wasn't too many posts into her beginning that she had gotten criticism- accusations full of misunderstanding and hurt.

Thinking about the whole thing still gets the knot in my stomach rolling.

But the part I remember so vividly, the part I have heard on repeat through out the years in church, is that criticism is proof that you're doing something right. & I very well could be butchering that, or twisting their words meant for cushion.


They meant well.


& my little fragile mind went to the place reminding me that I don't have any critics. Nor commenters, other than the occasional blue moon.

So am I doing it right, whatever it is?


& so I prayed, 'Lord, give me some critics.'
Looking back on it, I am about bashing my treasured five-finger forehead against the oak table. Now I pray, 'Lord, I know not what I say. Only listen to the good stuff.'

Have you ever noticed the people that tend to talk the most at bible studies are women? That's great, girls, because I am always the first and last one with an opinion, but I need to admit something to you.

Sometimes I talk to feel right, & my words run in circles, doing nothing more than being pretty.

PRETTY. adj. appearing or sounding pleasant or nice

but lacking strength, force, manliness, purpose, or intensity.

MERRIAM-WEBSTER, DEFINITION 2C.

Women know the way to rear up children (to be just.)

They know a simple, merry, tender knack

Of tying sashes, fitting baby-shoes,

And stringing pretty words that make no sense,

And kissing full sense into empty words.

ELIZABETH BARRET BROWNING

 

 

 

Before every female gets highly offended, hear me out. This is my story, not yours.

If you consider this rubbish, look at what a mumbling fool I am capable of being.

But if, perhaps, you are convicted, know you're not alone.

 

I know the power of words. I've seen them, read them, written them.

& I know the ability to make your words look powerful. But we all know that looks can be quite deceiving.


As a self-proclaimed 'gifted writer', I have written some essays of which I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Because my heart's deepest desire in the present is to procrastinate. Later. So I went three years through college living in the last moment, throwing things together & stringing words together that literally meant nothing, answered nothing, but they sure appeared extravagant. That was how I got by.

So I know the game. & more recently, God has been teaching me the art of silence. Especially the silence coming from a heart that yearns for critics.


Because let me tell you a secret about critics.
They hurt.

Maybe you're all like 'the girl is bold'.
For putting my emotions & struggles out for the world to trash or embrace. But there is nothing bold about me in the face of criticism. I am the one who tosses out my opinions to all those I know will agree, & on the occasion that someone tells me how awful I am or that I am wrong, I practically say,

Oh, you don't like my voice? Sure, I will shut up now.

& I did. After a week of criticism from professors, classmates, & acquaintances, I realized what I shouldn't have prayed for, as my sobs dissipated any strength I was still wearing on the outside.

Because you ought to know, as much as I appreciate y'all taking time to give your opinions on how I am doing, I am a very, very fragile person. & sometimes I tell myself to buck up & be a man & that's when I remember I am not a man. I am a women. & this particular girl has been molded a rather gentle spirit.

















So this is what I've been up to.
You know, the norm of hiding under the covers. Dancing around this post like I am a ballerina or something. Fighting the urge to retire from my blogging days.

But the Father has been alluring me, whispering sweet, faithful songs to this delicate daughter, reminding me of all He has given me to spill with his precious blood.


In her book A Million Little Ways, Emily Freeman says it best. She reminds:

 

You will never be the first person to say it.

But say it anyway.

Because no matter how many people have said it before you,

sometimes it's your words that will make people truly hear.