"In the silence, in the waiting, still we can know You are good."

 

I recently found myself singing those words.  It seems life is so much more full of silent and waiting moments than we care to admit.  This last year has been that way for me.  

 

Not this summer, but the summer before, I found myself spending every available moment pouring my heart out through the click of the keyboard.  Words upon words, ordering my story, the One about finding Jesus first as a messy, empty, soul-hungry adolescent turned adult and then finding Him all over again as a work-hard, die-hard, earn-His-love, making-up-for-all-the-lost-time, striving woman and young mama.

On a warm day in late July, I boarded a plane with my coffee in one hand and a bag carrying all my words in the other.  I had actually let myself dream again.  To be honest, I felt kind of like an impostor, not worthy enough to call myself a writer, but hopeful someone might tell I was one.

The next day I walked into a room of women just like me.  All brave, they were dreaming and hoping that someone might tell them their story mattered too.

I learned so many things.  I met amazing women whose stories I still follow over a year later.  Women spoke kind and encouraging words over me.

I came home wondering and waiting to see what God would do in the wake of it all. 

Before I knew it September had come and instead of sharing my story with the world, I fell very silent.

Yet, in the silence, in the waiting, I learned that He really is good.

For me, the silent year, was the hardest.  Ever.  

Like a little caterpillar holed up in her cocoon, there were times I felt so very alone, so very stuck, so very afraid I might never see the light of day again.  But it was in the dark, in the silence, in the waiting, that my heart changed once again.  There was a metamorphosis of motivation.  My dreams and hopes for my future remained but the whys and hows were worked and reworked and still are working themselves out.

I know I'm not done changing.  I certainly hope not, at least.  But I know it's time to sing again.  

I waited patiently for the LORD;
he inclined to me and heard my cry.
He drew me up from the pit of destruction,
out of the miry bog,
and set my feet upon a rock,
making my steps secure.
He put a new song in my mouth,
a song of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear,
and put their trust in the LORD.
— Psalm 40:1-3

So, what was so hard, you might ask? What was the great "metamorphosis in my motivation?"

I will leave you with this:

What was hard?  Life, real, messy, unkempt life was hard. 

What changed? I learned what or should I say, "who," matters most.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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