*A comment of mine on an (in)courage post. While writing it, while it poured out of me, I realized “I should declare this more than once. Perhaps it may keep me accountable to seeing truth, recognizing walls and self-restrained leashes, and to trying to continue rather than stop dead in my incomplete tracks. For whatever reason, here they are: fears about dreaming.
I can’t even type those two words without crying. The word “dream” scares me to no end. Because I avoid mine: I wrestle, I bury, I second – third – two-hundred and twelve times guess myself on if my dream matches God’s dream. And even if it does, I can’t get past the enormous likelihood that I’ll fail. I’ll fail a thousand times. I won’t be as good, or as talented. I’ll scrape myself bare of all the pretenses and masks and safety barriers – I’ll stand exposed in every flaw and insecurity, and people will have full access to see and be horrified, or see and judge, or perhaps the worst: see and ignore – unable to relate.
I was born with words flowing from me. They began as merely for me. As a way to communicate what was within, to a place where I could see them, touch them, feel them more potently – and thus understand myself more than I though possible. It escalated to a deep, racing river of intimacy with God. Growing, investigating, traveling with Him through prose and the delicacy of discovery.
I wanted to write every day. It was for nobody’s acceptance, nobody’s eyes. Only His and mine. Then I had the unprepared thought that I could use the platform of words to speak, whether I was heard or not, then I could experience that freedom and bliss without cease.
But when you empty that which you love out on the platform for full exposure – does it remain with you? Does it keep it’s vital place in your soul? Does it become compromised and challenged and superficial?
Or is all of the questioning, the doubt, the excuses…are they all just manifestations of fear making itself a tyrant over truth? Is the bottom line: “I’m terrified to step out” – even believing God gave me this passion not to squander and hoard, but to nourish and share?
The word and active verb “Dream” shouldn’t make one cry. It should ignite movement and fluid hope. My dream is to matter. To further the Kingdom of which I am an adopted daughter. My dream is to only, firmly, step the stones He lays beneath my feet. Nowhere else do I desire to tread, than in His ways.
If that is by writing…by keeping the passion He gave me from the beginning, then I still need tremendous help in laying myself bare, in trusting that there is no failure that He cannot turn into transformative restoration. The refinement of a precious metal cannot take place without passing through fire after fire, to remove the impurities and become an unclouded mirror of beauty. Oh how I need to be unclouded.