The moment when a teenager’s
faithfulness causes you to truly examine your own faith is a great moment. This
morning during Sunday school we were discussing what we (and by we, I mean my
church’s youth group) would do for our youth-led service coming up. We were
looking at the lyrics to several worship songs from Bethel and Hillsong.
Ultimately, we discussed fear, and how fear doesn’t exist of God. Fear exists because of man. We create the fear that lives
within us, and our fear limits God. Most of the time fear is fueled by our own
comfort. Initially, I think of comfort as physical things. Maybe we are afraid
to give up the physical things that make our life comfortable. However, the
more I contemplated how I was limiting God the more I saw my insecurities.
I lack confidence in my most all
of my abilities. I honestly feel God has called me to write, but I am uncertain
of what platform to use in accomplishing this task. When I question God on
this, His response always is, “Just WRITE. I can’t work through you unless you write.”
So, I started this blog as an attempt to explore writing for an audience. As
you can see, I haven’t published a total of NINE posts. Nine post in almost an ENTIRE year. Why? Well, that one is easy…insecurity…WHAT
PEOPLE THINK! That’s why I rarely promote my writing on Facebook. Oh, how I
wish I didn’t care what others thought of me. I often try to convince myself I
don’t, but I do. I REALLY do! My BFF can tell you I over-think, over-analyze, and
exaggerate EVERYTHING, even the tiniest of things. It may be what people say or
do or even what they don’t do. I worry, stress, lose sleep, and generally, make
myself sick over such. I really am surprised I don't have an ulcer.
The fact that I am about to share
with the world wide web my writing scares the living hell out of me. I might have develop an ulcer after this. Lol! One night during youth, I had the kids reflect
and write something. I don’t even remember what, but I decided to do the reflection
too. During that reflection, God told me to write even if I didn’t know
what to write and by not writing I was saying I didn't trust God's power. On the way home, the
word sterile popped into my mind. Don’t ask me why I have NO idea!! Through
that one word, I formed a pretty amazing sentence (or at least I thought it was pretty awesome) in the five blocks it took me to get home. I walked in and immediately sat at my computer
and typed the sentence. That sentence led to my writing a paragraph….I shall share that first paragraph now…
The overwhelming sterility of the
room paralyzed my body, my breathing, my speech. However, my mind was flooded
with memories or at least what felt like memories. As I looked into the mirror
over the sink, my face appeared foreign. My sun-kissed glow was erased by a
pale translucent mint. On closer observation, I noticed beads of sweat
beginning to form on my forehead. I
found my hands gripping tightly to the sink counter to maintain an upright
position.
“Amanda, Is everything alright?,” the nurse whispered as her hand grazed
my shoulder. Her touch jerked me out of my trancelike state.
“Um, yeah, I’m fine.” I found
my voice, but I still hadn’t gained control of my mind. Vivid visions of this
room attacked my senses. Glimpses of the bright light blinded me. The smell of
latex and disinfecting cleaner with a hint of lavender caused a knot to form
within my gut that inched toward my throat. I felt as I was moments away from
losing any and all contents of my stomach. I swallow to gain my composure but realize I
am no longer standing. I sense movement around me, and I feel two, cold fingers
lay atop my wrist with a slight pressure followed by a cold sensation on my
chest. All I see is black. I don’t understand what is going on. Where am I? I think as I hear a comforting
voice. A voice I know accompanied by a face I do not. Coming out of my swoon, anxiety
creeps upon me again. I am unable to acquire control over my breathing pattern
as I see this unfamiliar face. I am simply unable to breathe. As I gasp for breathe, his hand reaches for
my arm. His soft fingers grip my arm while his thumb provides me with a gentle
comfort in an ever so soft caress.
“Miss Shepherd, I need
you to breathe. Please, just breathe.”
I find myself focused on his melodic voice. It is his voice that allows
my lungs to find rhythm again. His voice has brought order back to my world.
…and the paragraph turned into a
page. Each time I sit down I write a few more words and those words form paragraphs which transform into pages. I now have written a total of 92 pages.
I am still scared to death about
sharing my writing. My heart is racing, my throat feels tight, and my fingers
are shaking as I am typing because this post exposes MY writing, a part of me I don't share very often. I have NEVER
considered myself a writer. Actually, I always thought I was horrible at
writing. I know that I still SUCK at grammar particularly tenses and commas,
but my mama told me that is why editors exist. I have a couple of grammar gurus
I trust who have promised to take an editorial look at it, but I have only
recently been brave enough to let outside people read it.
Tonight is me stepping WAY
outside of my comfort zone to live out what I preach to my youth group. I suppose to be considered a writer one must first have an audience. As I see my audience, I pray for courage and peace from a God who abolishes fear. From
the words of Bethel, “You make me brave, You make me brave, You call me out
beyond the shore into the waves, You make me brave, You make me brave, No fear
can hinder now the love that made a way!”
If you took the time to read this
post, I LOVE YOU!! Thank you for supporting me past my insecurities…
