Welcome Back

 

My sweet friend looked at me and said, “But Denise, you don’t care about what people think about you.”  We had been talking about what we were planning to wear to an event. I kinda laughed because what she meant as a compliment also showed that uh, well, I’m not always the most put-together person. But aside from fashion and hairstyles, I do care. I really do…but more about my words than my shoes. 

I’ve said and probably written a lot of careless and empty words. Plenty of foolish sentences have crossed my lips. I’ve spoken too soon and joked around too much. I’ve lost my cool, my sound judgment, and I’m sure, my family could testify that at times, I’ve lost my mind. Even when I’m able to piece together coherent advice or encouragement, I feel the need to give a disclaimer about how I don’t have everything figured out. 

The number of times that I’ve walked away from a conversation or a group discussion wishing I could reel back in every syllable I uttered are just too many to count. 

Perhaps it’s all of that second-guessing myself combined with busyness, complacency, and, dare I say, disobedience to this calling that added up to a really long break from this blog.

But it has stayed on my mind. And I’ve wrestled with how to share my words in a productive way.

We’ve been singing this song in church recently: 

“Your promises never fail

I’ve got stories I’ll live to tell

So I’ll pour out my praise again

You’re worthy, God you’re worthy of all of it.”

                                                                                         *Passion/Malone

The line about telling stories keeps resonating with me. That line and lots of other promptings have led me back to this blog and my writing.

It’s time. Time to pour out my praise again. 

My praise, but not necessarily my story.

Because it’s not really my story. Afterall, my story isn’t all that exciting on most days. From the outside, mine is an insignificant tale. Just a wife and mom trying to make the beds, make dinner, and honestly, sometimes, just make it through the day. A bit insignificant to the outside world.

I read a line in a Bible study book recently that mentioned what an insignificant little town Nazareth was. That fact jumped off the page at me. A small place that was the home of a Mighty Savior. Most people have heard of Nazareth, not because of its significance but the One who creates significance.

Before following Him, one of Jesus’ disciples even questioned, “What good can come from Nazareth?” 

It’s tempting to question the significance of a place or a calling when it seems small.

On this blog, I can tell you some antics about being a mom to (almost) three teenage boys. I can share the ups and downs of marriage. I can even relay to you how the Lord is stretching me and growing me. And then we can all sit back and ask, “What good can come out of this little life? Out of this Nazareth?”

The answer has nothing to do with me or my words. This isn’t the story of my life. This is the story of God’s faithfulness. His love. His mercy. And His goodness, so much goodness.

When this blog had some years under its belt, I remember a consultant with the hosting site setting up an appointment with me. In my head, I knew what it was about. They wanted me to pour some money into advertising. My heart led me to make more of it. I gathered my laptop, a notebook, and pen and called in at the designated time. I turned on my professional voice as I answered questions about my site and goals. It all sounded so put together. No way did the woman on the other end of the line realize I was conducting this business meeting while sitting on my bed donning my comfy leggings and a t-shirt. 

I was right. They just wanted me to spend money that I didn’t have on advertising that I didn’t think would work anyway. The details? They’ve escaped me at this point. But I do remember one of her parting sentences, “You don’t really have a lot of followers for having this blog established for a few years.”  

That last part stung a little. 

I knew that my low numbers equaled insignificance in her eyes. After ending the call, I sat and stared at my blank paper. And knew that I had to shift my focus. Views and likes and follows aren’t my end game. To be honest, I’d rather keep a lot of words to myself. It would be easier to escape the vulnerability and stay quiet.

But I cannot contain His story and the impact on mine. So I’m writing again because He is so very worthy of my praise. He is all-Significant!

“For the cross that You bore and the debt that You paid

For the victory You won over death and the grave

This is the reason I sing

For the hope that You give and the joy that You bring

For the promise that Heaven is waiting for me

This is the reason I sing.”

                                                                           *Wickham