Witness

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My whole life, I have been able to write.  Wait, that’s not true.  But after I learned to write, I could write.  Know what I mean?  It comes naturally.  There are lots of things I’m not good at, like fixing things, being patient, sports, holding my tongue, crafts and video games.  But writing, I can do.  Words flow.  But this is my first ever blog, for lots of reasons.  The reason I want to tell you about now is – terror.  I’m scared.  I am sure I will write lots of posts that are not scary, about my thoughts or my kids or things I’m learning.  But the words that create a connection to a writer aren’t wholly about those things, although they can be the skin and bones.  The blood and muscle of a written word that means something is vulnerable.  It is messy and bloody and bare, like raw meat.  It comes from the broken places.

The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places.  Ernest Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms.

The world has broken me.  I have spent the last four years crawling forward because no one has yet invented a way to go back.  I look up toward heaven because when I look down at the earth I see the litter of what we have lost.

Hallelujah.

I want the record I leave to mean something.  I want more than skin and bones.  Not because my life is of any great account, but because the One who is redeeming my life is.

Jireh, Provider, Healer, Redeemer, Lamb of God who walked this earth.  Master and Maker, Death Overtaker, God who’s come to rescue us.  

Jehovah.

In the future I will tell you more about the past years.  I will take you, to an appropriate extent, under the rubble.  For now I make this commitment – I will take the risk of the raw meat.  The God Who Sees Me has invited me into a deeper journey and this little ole blog is a part of that.

I want to be a Witness.

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