This Little Life of Mine

I have opened a blank document no less than three dozen times in the last couple of months and just stared at the blinking curser.

Maintaining a blog is hard for me. It’s like there’s a deep rooted something inside my heart that knows I am supposed to write, to use my camera, and to turn the walls of this simple farmhouse into glass so that this little life might shine for the world to see. But it’s wrestling with the fear of not having anything good to say. It’s battling with the idea that it might not be worthwhile for anyone.

I’ve been convicted. I’m sitting on something God has told me to do. I write occasionally. When God lays something on my heart too heavy for me to carry, I lay it down in words. Then I’ll share. Because I feel so certain that God’s words are always worth saying. But what if it’s just my life, my day, my family, my words? Then I second guess. I can’t imagine that it would inspire anyone at all.

I’m not saying this to have anyone puff me up. I’m saying it to hold myself accountable. Even writing the 195 words I’ve already typed into this document, I’ve already imagined three times this standing as a lonely and forgotten post with no follow up months from now. I’ve already thought, “Don’t post that. You’ll feel foolish when you don’t do anything different.”

That’s the enemy. He’s a liar.
He is always standing there waiting to remind you of your failures. He’s always whispering that you can’t do better, can’t grow in discipline. That’s because he doesn’t know grace. He can’t comprehend mercy. He’s just a thief, set on stealing God’s plans for us.
I rebuke that nonsense. 

I’m here to tell you that this isn’t easy, but the best things never are.

A year and a half ago, God laid one of those heavy things down on me. It was about my friend April, a few days after a tornado killed her sons.  I wrote it because not to would have been treacherously disobedient to God. He is mighty. His plan is unthinkable. So when millions of people streamed in to my rarely-touched blog, I was so incredibly humbled. 

Since then, I've felt the same pull. I've felt like I should teach people about chickens and show how we live. It just feels so minor compared to that massive thing that jumpstarted my writing. It feels like when compared to the big picture, the everyday things couldn't possibly matter. 

But they do matter. Because God said they matter. They do matter, because even small things inspire people. They do matter because it's my life. My life matters and when I walk in that confidence, it changes peoples hearts about their own life and their own dreams. My faith matters because it encourages the faith of others to grow. Isn't it funny how much just stating the truth can embolden you?

Over the course of the last two weeks, I have really sought God on some things.
I want to be obedient, you know. I mean really. My heart burns with desire to see revival in this country. And I know that the only way to be a herald for the fire of God is to have a repentant heart. So I ask Him, regularly, to search me. (Psalms 139:23)

I wasn’t really prepared for this conviction.

He took me back to the parable of the talents. In Matt 25:14-30, we hear a story of a master who gives a number of talents to each one of His servants. That word, Talent, when you take it back to the Greek is actually a measure of gold. And a heavy measure at that, weighing roughly the same as a person. It’s not a number. It’s not an amount, per say. It’s a weight.

Two servants took their measure and multiplied it. One buried his in the ground. And this week, as God showed me what He had asked of me, and showed me that when I operate in doubt and do not share my life for fear of criticism or failure, then I am no better than that lazy, slothful servant who buried his measure out of his fear. 

I have been doing this, burying my measure. Maybe I've done a little bit of what I should. But partial obedience is total rebellion. Maybe I've been writing and sharing a little. But I have allowed fear to override truth.
Man, that’s a hard conviction.
This week it was mine.

It is not up to me, the servant, to decide the value of my measure. It’s not up to me to worry about how it will be received. It’s only up to me to do what I have been told to do with it.
In this case. It is to share.

At the height of this revelation, I was sitting on our bed with my Word open and praying. Jeremiah came in and I looked at him and said "I just feel so heavy. I feel mixed up." So we began to talk and pray, and suddenly, I was reminded of a conversation he and I had years ago on a random night outside of a pizza restaurant in our old town. It was before we had any hope of owning a homestead in the foreseeable future. I was a full time student and we had recently invested quite a lot of money in photography equipment with the plan of me opening a business and working hard to make it succeed. 

I remember sitting in the car that night. It was winter and I was crying. I told Jeremiah that I didn't think God wanted me to be a photographer. That I didn't understand the set of gifts and desires He had born into me. The writing, the photography, the love of the Word, the desire to stay at home with our kids and then that life-long burning to have a farm. I couldn't reconcile them. I couldn't figure out why I would have such longing in my heart for a life that felt so far away from where I was. 

So I kept praying. And years later, God reminded me of that night, that conversation. He reminded me and showed me that He had actually given me every desire I'd had for my life. And He has only asked me to do one thing with it. 

Honor Him by sharing it with others. 

So I am. 

I am. From now on, I am. Even if it feels silly. Even if it doesn't feel worthwhile. Whether it feels heavy or not. I don't decide the value of this thing, He does. 

He's given me everything I asked of Him. And let me tell you, it's messy and its hard but it is a beautiful life. While I hope it inspires someone, it can't really matter to me if it doesn't. 

All that matters is hearing those words when I'm done with my race. All that really matters to me is hearing Him say, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. Well done" 

This is my blog, my life, my measure. For it, I am thankful.