Seven years. That’s
how long it’s been since I first opened a blank blogger post, knowing that
whatever I typed on that naked page would go onto the World Wide Web for
whoever cared to see it.
Or whoever didn’t
care.
I write for a living.
I have two blogs. I’ve gotten used to sitting in a room full of strangers
reading what I’ve written and then verbally tearing it up in front of me.
But there has been no
writing project more terrifying than goldenclay.blogspot.com.
I remember sitting
across from her in the living room. “Do you know you’ve actually played a
significant role in my story?”
“No.” I’m surprised.
We’ve hung out only a few times.
She explains how
meeting me in a class at church was an answer to her parent’s prayer. How
signing up for a small group wouldn’t have happened without me signing up
beside her. How she wouldn’t have met her small group leader. The one who might
be the one.
Seven years and I
often find myself checking the number of views on my blog.
Wondering about posts
I’ve wept over, argued with God about. Posts that less than ten people have
given a like. Wondering if it’s worth it.
Because, as much as I
hate math, I often judge my life’s worth based on numbers. The higher the
number of views, followers, best friends, the more worthwhile I am to God.
What we often forget
is that we add value to people’s stories just based on being in them in the
first place--and often through no choice of our own. We add value in ways we
could never plan or preconceive.
Like how we spent a
total of six hours together before I never saw him again. And how he sent me a
text saying he admired my intelligence. And how I never knew that someone would
think that about me. And how now I’m less afraid to speak up and be a leader.
Or how I reached out
to her for accountability with shame I’d kept secret for fifteen years and she
never batted an eyelash when I told her the gruesome details. She just thanked
me. She’ll never know how God used her to open a prison door.
Seven years. Seven
years of pushing the ‘Post’ button and realizing that my biggest role as a
Christian writer, as with everything, is to die to myself.
For me: to be
vulnerable, honest about my brokenness and my Hope (both of which can be
equally difficult).
To be obedient.
Even with zero views
and zero followers.
Like Jesus in the
Garden of Gethsemane.
Who am I to say how
God is working? Or that He needs an audience to do it.
“Man's
steps are ordained by the LORD, How then can man understand his way?” Proverbs
20:24
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