it’s been seventy eight days since my last post, and i figured it’s high time to break the silence. spring has been so full. in the past seventy eight days, i finished my first school year in the W&PA office, spent ten days laughing + trying to learn playground games in south africa and stood by my oldest friend as she and her now-husband said their vows at the dreamiest backyard wedding there has ever been. i also discovered a dead possum under our porch, duck donuts, the most unsuccessful baked oatmeal recipe and the world of door-to-door campaigning. my life is every kind of wild + weird.
despite the fact that these days have been filled with good and hard things, i’ve had exactly zero words to say about them. i started post after post and caption after caption, only to discover that i had absolutely nothing to offer. it didn’t matter that i’d just finished reading a book that spoke truth right into my deepest hurts and insecurities (wild + free, just read it.), that i witnessed god doing a mighty thing in a tiny, spirit-filled school in south africa, or that in a million ways, he’s been bringing my fear of vulnerability into the light and building for me this beautiful gospel-community that sort of terrifies me.
in so many ways this silence was sacred, giving me a moment to catch my breath and sort out the noise in my head. but, i also believe that there are stories to be told and words to be written from these days. i want to be quicker to tell of god’s faithfulness, to make much of him, to put his glory on display and his praise always on my lips. sometimes this is just so hard. it requires me to be brave, to open up, to come out from behind the walls i’ve built up + also, sometimes cry in front of people. still, i’m sure that the things god is doing here weren’t meant to stay silent forever.
as the spinning subsides and stories sift to the top, there will be so much more to say, but for now i’ll say this -our father is so good + he’s in business of healing, of making all things new. he is kind and he’s calling us to freedom. if you feel stuck or you feel silenced, know that he’s made a way for you, that he bends his ear to listen and we’re never too broken, to far, too much. if you’ve found healing or tasted freedom and are keeping your story to yourself, i’d really love to hear it and i’m willing to bet your people would too. tell the story of his goodness, sweet friends -cheers + duck donuts to you.