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Somewhere along the way, I’ve been convinced I have nothing worth offering.

I have longed always to make a difference in the world, to accomplish great works leading to great change. Yet my efforts seem continually squashed by the proud, the domineering, the insecure, those with titles or savvy. By their words and implications, I have come to believe I am nothing but noise.

Five years now I have allowed the voice crying out in the wilderness of my heart to be silenced, at least softened beyond recognition.

My words are blunt, my attitude abrasive they’ve said. But which of God’s prophets ever spoke sweet, affirmation-laced words? Which lacked an edge that at times split the cedars?

I know there is a time and a place and perhaps even a way, but I’ve been so concerned with saying or doing things right I’ve failed to simply be who I am. At what point did I agree to care what others think? How ludicrous a measure for performance or worth.

I’ve heard what the world needs most is for me to simply be who I am, yet it seems to be what the world wants least.

I’ve tried to care less but find it impossible. I’ve attempted diplomacy but mostly end up squashed.

I don’t want to be angry or unkind – in truth I care deeply and strive to love from the heart. But still people find the truth unbearable, unwelcome, unappealing. So it remains untold.

But I can remain silent no more.

Even as I write the words, I am fearful, unconvinced my words could ever be enough to break through. Idols align, distracting my eye with glints of gold and ruby-set emeralds.

I fix my eyes on making a living, on being published, on a bestseller, on living “the life.” America now takes hold, determined to steer me off track. I become fearful of failure, of misunderstanding, of lack of an audience apart from close family and friends.

I am again sucked in to the black hole of illusionary incompetence – the degree, the life experience, the resume all become unimpressive. I fear I am insufficient for greatness, not up to the task.

The failure of others taunts me no less than their success.  I read their words seemingly inspired by God Himself and convince myself He has said through others all there is to share. Nothing is new under the sun – I cannot possibly have something worth offering.

I want to hold the words close, lacking confidence that if I were to push them from the nest they would fly. As though the words are mine rather than His.

My faltering belies the unspoken belief that God rarely is enough, that the truth and redemption rest on my shoulders, that if I fail, God has failed, and everyone will know. Despite my claims otherwise, I have bought into the Western belief that I am greater than God and know better than He.

My heart withers at the realization – smite it with shame and wrath from on high.

Again I am reminded God has not called me to be successful – only to be faithful, obedient, in relationship with Him. The rest is in His hands.

So whether or not I fail or receive income, I must be faithful to this calling to write and speak truth. I must trust that He will somehow provide sufficiency for me to continue writing, to press on in obedience.

I let the words flow, not judging or evaluating. Just letting my fingers type and capture the thoughts that flow.

I write for God alone and let Him do what He will.