Why I Write.

Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Fear.

It is the reason I sit here, minutes turn to hour,  fingers poised at the keyboard, without writing a word.

Because writing is still a little like undressing.

If I write this post it clearly means I care.  But there is a jewel and there is courage, so I will my fingers move.

Cowards pretend that they don’t care. That they don’t try. It takes no courage to pretend we have no fears. I have heard enough that leaders must feign fearlessness. You can lead me nowhere unless you lead me through your heart. Through the places that ache, are dirty, the places that are scared to death and yet go on.

I would love for the world to think that words come easy to me. I would love for you to think that my retreat messages come together in beautiful serene moments of epiphany while walking through the woods.  That Bible studies flow effortlessly through my fingers as I type. That I don’t still face heart race and palm sweat and stretched on face pleading God give grace I need you!

No sweat, right? Does not our culture insist that it’s not cool to sweat?  Is there not a measure of pride in the idea that something came of us and we didn’t even try?

And what is pride if it is not fear? Pride stems from fear and fear from pride. The cycle of depravity nipping at our heels.

Fear.

Fear keeps us from trying so hard that someone might take notice, and we, standing naked, would be seen. Be seen trying.

To try is to risk. And risk is only risk if the possibility of failure is real.

Hence fear.

But beneath the layer of fear, we sense, there is a jewel.  We–we all–sense that in our imago Dei image of God there is something deposited in us that is worthy. That bears His name and brings His grace to the world. That’s meant to be shared.

“Do not be afraid of being beautiful,” a trusted friend once said.  I had been. Had cried. Sobbed. Had somehow believed that how God made me was a problem, a temptation, a stumbling block to the world.  Shroud that imago Dei away with whatever layers I could find.

I do not mean modest I mean mask.

And there were others.  Writing 324 instructor.  His name escapes me but his words never will. Shaggy hair, two-day stubble, seated across a cafe table on the University campus.  Squinting into my eyes, “No, this stuff is really good.”  He was crazy and blunt and harsh enough I had no reason to not believe him. Ok then, I will write.

Margorie Sandor, Dr. Dan Lockwood, Valorie Clemen and of course then there’s you. You, many of you who have spoken words of  life to my soul, who have fanned my faltering flame and not let me slide but instead slipped an email, “Did you do it?” Holding me to courage.

Reminding me of the jewel. Christ in me, the hope of glory. The glorious mystery.  A jewel in a jar of clay.

And jewels I have seen. Jillian acts and Sarah designs the world. Joy speaks and Pam snuggles orphans. Janae and Candi wear motherhood like a crown.  All beautiful jewels, shining for His glory, they rest in settings of proper placement, first helpmeets to their husbands, caretakers to aging parents. I look. I see jewels.

And we are not called to flatter each other’s flesh. But we are called to seek out the treasure in each other.  To douse envy’s burn with love, to glimpse into another’s heart and hold the jewel up to the light, make it seen.  To bravely bare our own souls–the jewel within–and let Christ be magnified in us. One day in death, today in life.

The jewel of God’s mystery is Christ in you, the hope of glory.

Fear will keep it shrouded. Faith will set it free.

That’s why I write.

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Thank you, beloved readers, for your jewel-seeking and flame-fanning.  In the spirit of this post I’m linking this to a beloved blog where I often find a home.  Ann Voskamp is graciously offering an opportunity to receive a scholarship to SheSpeaks, a conference devoted to this very thing–holding jewels to the light. Christ in us, the hope of glory.

So glad I get to try.