But for real, I don’t. I’ve never written a blog. But I like blogs, and there are a couple that I regularly keep up with. Also, humble brag, I’m a good reader. And I think the best writers were first the best readers so maybe I have that going for me.
So as an example of how I really don’t know what I’m doing, I’m gonna lay down some heavy stuff here even though this is my first post. Because I have feelings, you guys, and I will go crazy if I keep walking around with all these feelings and don’t get them down somewhere.
Let’s start with what I believe. Which is actually a pretty short list because there are few things in this life that I can say I honestly irrevocably believe in.
I believe in God the Father, who adopted me into a royal priesthood as His own and shows me mercy when all I deserve is judgement.
I believe in Jesus the Son, who lived and died and rose again to show me that not only is He God, He is my truest friend.
I believe in the Holy Spirit, a counselor and interceder and yet the most confusing part of the Trinity to me but that’s ok.
That is what I believe. And if you don’t, no worries, we can still be friends. But that is what I believe. I cling to those truths as my solid ground.
So you’d think that if I am this adamant about said beliefs, I’d be a really good Christian, right? Wrong, my friends. So, so wrong. I’ll leave the labels of “good” and “very good” and “excellent” for the more qualified and stick to the prayer that fits me best: “God, have mercy on me, a sinner.”
This is my paradox, friends. I so wholly and desperately believe in a loving God, but there are days when I cast my gaze heavenward and ask Him why this heart He made can feel so terribly broken. There are moments when God feels distant because I mistake His quiet for absence. Sometimes I think that what is happening in my life, in this world, just cannot be right so I sit in the ashes and I plead for Him to please, please Jesus, make this ok. Explain to me. I don’t get it.
Some would call that a little heretical. Daring to ask God to explain Himself to me. But there enters Grace, which is the very nature of God and Amazing and that I sometimes like to think of as an old Southern lady who ended up being your next door neighbor and confidant.
She ushers me into her home and settles me in her kitchen where she is most herself. And in that sacred place I sit and sob and tell her how awfully confusing this road has been and how nothing is the way I planned it to be. She hums and nods and holds my hand while I stumble over my words and hiccup and catch my breath in that little kid way of crying. Grace pours me another glass of sweet tea as I let out a seemingly endless stream of half-coherent thoughts that reveal the most vulnerable parts of my heart. Even the doubting parts. Even the scared parts.
And when I lift my head and stammer an apology for going on and on and not making much sense, Grace stops me with a shake of her head and a smile. She says, “Oh sweet child, don’t you know how much I love spending this time with you? Tell me everything, honey, I like to hear it all. You’re allowed.”
The beauty of God’s Grace is that it allows us to step into our identity as precious sons and daughters of a Father who will grieve with us as much as He will rejoice with us. It invites us to have conversation with Him without fear of condemnation. Grace listens.
This blog is a collection of my ramblings with Grace. I’d love to have you come ramble with me. I can’t promise we’ll have it all (or anything) figured out at the end, but I know Grace won’t hold that against us.
C’mon, it’ll be fun!
Grace and I will save you some tea.