Joe fell a bit sick yesterday and life is still happening. I woke up in the morning and watched my email load with my eyes bugged out. Then I cried. And so still catching up on comments, tweets, emails, Facebook shares, messages, and all from this post. Thank you for bearing with me.
Shame is crashing down, and I can hear the thud and the breaking and the release – it is glorious.
But here is the thing: Thank you.
Thank you for getting it, for loving me, for grace, for guts, for honesty, for love. Thank you for doing life with me. Thank you for standing up for Love and grace. Thank you for sharing it, for spreading the word, for trusting me to speak. Thank you for telling a better story with your own lives: you make me braver.
I don’t quite know where to begin with it all. Yesterday’s post crashed the servers at Deeper Story, it’s travelling far and wide. I will never be able to respond to everyone well. I’m very thankful for Luke Harms and Preston Yancey’s willingness to step in and moderate comments as well as respond well. I couldn’t and probably won’t be able to do that. (I feel in a way like I said what I needed to say and need to just let it stand.) Also, When in Comments is dedicating the next few days to that post so I’m sure a few of you will get a chuckle out of that.
I was terrified to publish that post. Not because I was ashamed anymore – I’m not – but somehow I knew that this was bigger than me, and I was just along for the ride, privileged and afraid. Now that it’s out there, I feel like dancing. Even the few Pharisees and trolls don’t bother me in the least: they know not what they do.
Here’s something I learned yesterday about doing something scary: it’s hard and holy and impossible and a helluva lot of fun. I loved it. I laughed when I wasn’t crying, pure joy. I bathed a sick boy, made supper, spelling homework, had my folks over, did laundry, and rejoiced in it all. My word this year is “Light” and I feel like yesterday swung open the doors and windows and the wind swept right in with the noonday.
We’re in it together, and we’re singing a song of freedom and hope and love. I feel like I just stepped right into the river.
Aslan is on the move.
Let’s move with our not-safe-but-so-good God.