You make me BRAVE

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…