Disobedience: My hidden sin

     Do you ever feel like God is nudging you to do something, yet you are holding back? 
     There are some things in life I'm certain of, and one of those is that all God wants from me is obedience. My obedience, which looks far different than the obedience of His other children, is always a battle. I'm a stubborn control-freak of a child. True story.
     It's also a fact that being obedient to God helps me with so much more than my faith. It keeps my eyes on Him so as to not be bound by jealousy or bitterness. It keeps me squarely in His purpose for me alone. It helps me to see through His eyes, so I'm more apt to love and pray for other people and use my gifts for His glory. 
     Typically, being obedient to Him means I have little time to worry about the sins of others, criticize, judge or condemn. If I'm honest, doing what He tells me usually involves me working on my sins and purpose, so He can give me freedom to soar in my identity in Christ. 
     But there was this one thing He asked me to do four years ago that I stubbornly dig my heels in about every chance I get. 
     God made it clear to me that I am to share stories of myself and to do so authentically, using my voice through writing on this blog and other publications. Part of me loved this calling, because I have always had a deep passion for writing. But there was part of me holding back from the very beginning. 
    The authentically part. Because being authentic means being honest with yourself and exploring areas of the depth of your soul you may not really want to. Subjects that are dark and difficult. Parts of me I'd rather hide.
    I did not want to bring these into the light. So like most defiant children, I didn't. I wrote about what I wanted to write about and ignored the truths He laid out in front of me. 
     I cannot tell you how detrimental this was to my health and particularly how it affected not just my spiritual being but my physical and emotional selves, too. (See above. The parts about jealous, bitterness, love and gifts. Yep, I was regularly a hot mess of ugliness!)
     Not long ago I read an article about the hidden sins of Christians. Two of them stood out at me as if God Himself had gotten out His bright pink highlighter for my sake: hypocrisy and caring more about what other people think than what God thinks. 
     I have a real problem with hypocrisy, as you can tell. 
     You see, I was holding back complete obedience to God in my writing and blogging because I thought to do so would make me seem arrogant. I like to think of one of my spiritual strengths as humility. I like to serve, and I highly value those amazing servants who do so without much fanfare or praise, whose work is so far behind the scenes that maybe, just maybe, God is the only witness. I don't like being in the limelight; I never have. So to say that writing about my struggles — some that I've overcome and some that are sins I still wrestle with — would be outside my comfort zone is the understatement of the decade. My history in writing is to interview other people and write their stories, not to write my own. 
     There were other factors at play, too. 
     Fear of criticism and judgement, fear that others would view me as prideful, an unlikely expert for writing about the topics I'm called to write about. Not surprisingly, fear is the subject of an upcoming Mighty Strong Girls publication, and God was revealing to me through others' writing submissions how I was letting my fear rule me and keep me from obedience. 
     So I balked. Over and over, I let me fear trump my calling. 
     A few weeks ago, my pastor preached about Nehemiah and how God used Him to rebuild the temple as God wants to use us to rebuild our lives, His church and His kingdom. 
     It resonated with me, as God has recently been rebuilding my life, and I realized I was not walking in full with His beautiful purpose for me because of my disobedience. 
     I know my calling. That much is clear. But I'm distracted by other things that seem tempting. I'm distracted by fear and criticisms. 
     That sermon opened my eyes to the fact that I'm getting in my own way with my disobedience. I am blocking God from using me for the very purposes He designed me for!
     God never promised I wouldn't face criticism, so in a way, my fears are founded on fact. 
     But why do we think for one moment that to walk in His will as we walk toward our purpose that He will reward us by lavishing us with constant blessings. Jesus' disciples made sacrifices. They were mocked. They, too, had fears and doubts. 
     Fears have never been powerful enough to stop destiny! Take my fear of childbirth, for instance. I did it — three times, mind you — and lived to tell the tale. It's walking through and facing those fears that builds our faith and our testimony. 
     To bring our stories into the light...it's not about us anyway, especially when He calls us to do it. Even when we don't like the way He wants us to do it. Who am I to think I know better than Him the way in which I'm to do His work. 
     It is encouraging for me to remember that Nehemiah and Daniel and Jesus' disciples and David and even Jesus Himself were not immune to fears, temptations and doubts. However, they did not change the fact that these men had great work at hand for their lives, God's church and His kingdom. 
     So do I. 
     And so do you. 

Overcoming my late-in-life pregnancy fears

     So, I'm probably about to have blog-rrhea. There was so much I wanted to write while pregnant, and the truth is...I was terrified to put my thoughts into writing during those months. 
     It was one of the most fearful seasons of my life.
     Fear...
     ...I would lose the baby. 
     ...something serious was wrong with the baby. 
     ...of our home sale falling apart. 
     ...that putting my kids back in public school was the wrong decision. 
     ...we wouldn't be able to afford another child. 
     ...of every single symptomatic issue I had in pregnancy. (Yes, I spent a lot of time on Google. Then I admitted I had a problem, promised to stay off the Internet and relapsed after about 24 hours. I realize I have issues!)
     ...that if I talked about any of this, something dreadful would happen. 
     ...I would gain too much weight, not be able to lose the weight after the pregnancy.
     ...I would succumb to food addictions.  
     ...of giving birth naturally, which I was trying to commit myself to doing but even my efforts left me doubting I could. 
     ...God would hate me or punish me for so many fears and doubts. 
      ...of my fears. (My anxiety disorder seemed so under control until this....all of this. It was overwhelming!)
     So I didn't write them. Or speak them. 
     But they haunted me. 
     ...at every doctor's appointment. 
     ...with every snide comment about my age in pregnancy. 
     ...in every headline about a stillbirth or studies about the dangers of pregnancy "late in life." 
     ...during the day and into the night. 
     ...as I listened to a horrendous podcast about depression in pregnancy (1 in 3 women suffer, almost always in silence) and wondered if it was me the author was describing. 
     ...with all the insomnia bouts that returned with a vengeance in my third trimester. 
     I was so glad God was speaking to me during this time and reassuring me. But me, in Amy-the-persistent-worrier fashion, continued to doubt and question. For every worry or fear, I grasped onto the one person who could bring me peace and reassurance. I had to keep going back to Him time and time again because I had such a restless spirit. I think He probably had me right where He wanted me. But I couldn't help shake my feelings of inadequate faith. It was touch and go. 
     I wish I could say that I had a great support network. I definitely had friends who were checking in on me and a husband who was there to listen to all my insecurities. 
     But for every friend who was supportive, there were three people who were negative. Some were silently protesting. Others whispered behind my back. I felt every sting. We received comments like, "How could you be so stupid (to get pregnant at your age)?" "Do you know how this happens?" and my all-time favorite said right to my face, "You're f----ed." 
     Many of these comments came from so-called friends. 
     It was so hard to share our news, not knowing what the reaction would be from a world where the attitudes about a fetus fall more along the lines of a "clump of cells," rather than my precious daughter, a life, a creation of God's. 
     An older woman having a baby seemed foolish. Heck, even I was skeptical in the beginning. It certainly wasn't our plan. 
     But it was our prayer. It was just a prayer from seven years prior...long forgotten. 
     At least we'd forgotten. 
     But someone hadn't. That one person — all holy and almighty — didn't forget the cries of my heart. And deep down, I trusted His timing. He said no to my prayer then. But He said yes to my prayer in this chapter. 
     So I trusted in Him, while so many others disappointed. 
     Faith. But a shaky, insecure, immature faith, to be sure. 
     Still, a glorious story unfolded in spite of my fears when my beautiful baby entered the world. 

Our sweet daughter, born in God's timing as His plan unfolds for our lives.

     She came naturally. But not without trouble. Her positioning was wrong. Labor, which I thought would be fast and not nearly as painful for all my preparation, didn't deliver on those promises. 
     But I was reminded that God doesn't promise life will be easy. He simply promises He will walk through it with us. 
     The birthing plan I had, the techniques I had practiced and prayed upon did not work out like I had hoped. But the scriptures I had written out on notecards gave me the hope and reassurance I need. Just as His word and my relationship with Him carried me through each day of the pregnancy. 
     Indeed, I was never alone. And I knew, no matter what happened to me or the baby, He would help me through it. After all, this was His plan, unfolding in His timing in answer to a deep prayer of my heart. 

Writer's block

For the longest time, I blogged. Now I'm not. Wish I had something profound to say about my writer's block. I don't. I'm afraid, really afraid, that this is as good as it gets. Because my writing is not going so well. Understatement of the year. 

It's weird, really. Because it's never happened to me. I overwrite. I can write one story 10 ways and love them all equally. I can write crap and show it to my husband who thinks it's awesome. Believe me, I've tried. But I can't. I can't journal, write stories or get a cohesive, intelligent thought from brain to blank sheet — either typing or writing. 

When I quit my job in early 2012, I felt like God wanted me to write about my experience. To share it. To record it. So I did. Even though it was the most uncomfortable thing I have ever written about. 

So much more has happened. God has moved in even bigger ways. My faith has grown. He has shown up when I was barely holding on. When I was about to give up. Time and time again. 

And when I try to record it, get it on paper...my words don't come. I really, really want to write again. Anything. I will even joyfully blog about the crazy world I live in, where my family can't figure out how to get groceries one day and the next, a friend gives us food. A world where I screw up, go before God and feel so dumb. But I repent, and He forgives, pouring grace and mercy on me like never before. A world where my family is honest, authentic and seeking (and offering) forgiveness. A world where I'm sure nobody understands, and I must be secretly considered the "crazy lady" by most of my friends and all of my family. 

But the words. They don't come. So many times, I've sat down here with my blog open, my journal blank and prayed for the right words. There are none. Or what I am thinking isn't what I'm writing. It's awful. Like this place here, where I am sure this very blog entry is cursed. Horrible. Nonsensical. 

Why. I'm not sure if it's God, perhaps wanting me to experience Him in new and different ways. To put down my pen and come to worship and know Him in new ways. (I have. I have loved it, even as I've longed to write.) Or if it's me, scared to be as raw as somedays I want to be. Fearful that when my opinion hits the paper, "crazy" will be the kindest thing people think of when they hear my name. 

I'm terrified I might write a lot more like this. Even more, I am scared of continuing in this place where I am not writing. At all. I don't like it here. 

The journal thing is really not working out. So I'm coming back here. To blog. Mostly for me, a return to myself, but for anyone who cares to tune in. 

Because there is so much I want to write. If only I can find the words.