I suppose its true now. I’m letting myself believe it. It’s been a long time coming.
This moment marks the day I finally quit avoiding a title I’ve always wanted.
It feels so good.
I settle in and smile.
My heart calms. I release control.
This might be the closest I’ve ever felt to arriving somewhere… enjoying a peace I’ve never known.
Somehow, there’s a place to land, a container to hold my words, to embrace my heart warmly.
Do I deserve this?
No more asking for permission.
No more stopping mid-sentence and closing shut the lid just because I can’t find the perfect metaphor; or craft a flawless sentence.
No more deciding that “she’s smarter” or “she’s more relevant” or “he’s better connected” or “he’s less cumbersome so he deserves what he has”.
I could never do that.
I’m resolving to be enough for now and trusting that what I have to say needs to be heard.
Things don’t need to be buttoned up.
Starting from where I am is the only thing I can do.
I’ve been scared.
I don’t want to offend anybody.
I act like I can control that.
I’ve got loved ones coming in from all sides of the political and religious traditions.
I know deep lovers of God who don’t want to sit in a church and those who never miss a Sunday who don’t seem to know God at all. Where is my place in the conversation?
No matter what I say, someone is going to pick apart something and twist my intention.
And so what if they do… I wish I thought, but I’m painfully aware that I don’t.
I care too much, which of course is why I’ve been stuck, why I’ve been silent.
I don’t want to admit this, but I’ve stayed in the harbor, where the mooring keeps me safe in what’s familiar. And you know the saying I’m sure… the part that says, “the ship is safe in the harbor, but that’s not what ships are for…”.
I can’t serve in this safety. I can’t thrive at all here.
I might choke. My throat tightens just thinking about it.
I know I’m supposed to toss my hat in the ring.
I feel the nudging every day.
If not me, then who. If not now, then when? I’ve asked myself these things for as long as I can remember.
I must speak and write… about people and living and Jesus and struggle.
About experience and urgency and contribution and cause.
I feel God calling me to it every hour.
In tiny whispers and often big, swift kicks God is pleading for me to open my mouth, to put a pen in my hand, to lay bare my heart and crack open my mind.
He is the God of limitless possibility. I don’t have to know outcomes.
I’m just responsible for the next best step.
He’ll guide me thereafter.
I haven’t been intentionally hiding, I’ve just been hesitant to finish work and put in in the world.
My desktop is full of scribbles and fragments in folders; pieces of ideas, partial paragraphs, outlines, a couple chapters almost done, another few essays stopped close to the end, but rendered incomplete because the closing call to action or poignant punch that’s going to change peoples’ lives, I just can’t articulate.
I’m done with that now. I’m going all in.
I’m releasing some of this silly self-analysis about all the ways I might fail.
I will. It’s part of it. And I will survive.
I am joining the ranks of those who say, “I am.”
If they can, then so can I.
I am a writer!
I am unleashed, unapologetic, and untied.
From now on, I’m showing up.
Full speed ahead.
I’m sorry I held out so long.