It’s been eighteen long months since I’ve written anything. A journal entry, a blog post, an idea. It’s been all I can do to write a grocery list. Yet, here I am again. After much internal struggle, I made the choice this week to sign up to be part of the Hope*Writers community.In taking this step I was also making the decision to write again. For better or worse. I was hoping in part, that I wouldn’t get in to the group. There was the possibility of a waiting list. Turns out, I didn’t have to wait long. They let me in. It’s official. I signed up. Entered my information and away I go. Or do I?I should be excited about this new awakening of my long held dream, but dread makes me want nothing more than to lie down and go to sleep. Holding the pen to write my words took a sheer act of will. I felt the strain of mountains moving as I put my thoughts down on paper again.As I contemplated actively participating in this group the fears began to swirl. How on earth would I introduce myself? I’m not a real writer like these people. I have no idea what I’m doing. I never follow through on anything. I’m sure to quit. It’s just a matter of time. Rejection. Failure. Embarrasment.When the accuser screams I tend to listen.I retreat back into myself. Brokenhearted and alone. My husband unaware in the adjacent room of the intense battle that was taking place such a short distance away.As I lay there in a ball of my own self pity a whisper rose above the din of self sabatoge. Clarity silencing chaos. “Get up. Read My word. Write yours.”The trouble is, the lies I believe are attached to feelings, emotions and physical responses. The hard reality of verbal abuse inflicted on a child is how deeply the cruel words intertwine with our identity. How difficult it is to detangle lies from truth when they grew up together.I feel like a failure before I begin. I believe I won’t make the cut.. Won’t be picked for the team. Won’t be part of the family. Don’t have, nor ever will have…what…it…takes.Weariness and despondency crash over me like my own personal tsunami. Threatening to batter, drown and destroy. Yet, still I rise.What a mighty warrior I am. The enemy is stronger than I, but he may be surprised by how many times I get up. I am resilient. I am strong. I have the ability to overcome. I. I. I.Tears turn to laughter as I try to entertain such thoughts. The strength that silences my adversary is not my own. Far from it. It’s like trying to compare the sun to a match. A damp match at that.No, the one who causes me to rise from my sea of despair is timeless in His majesty. Never failing in His love. He is powerful enough to make mountains melt yet gentle enough to comfort a crushed little girl in a women’s body as he beckons her forward to come after Him. To trust in the fact that she is hidden in Him and that He has given her good gifts because He is a strong and kind father.He reminds me not to listen to the bully at my ear but to lift up my chin to look into the eyes of endless grace. To have the freedom to explore His love and His calling. To believe that if no one else in the whole world ever reads my words but Him and I, it is enough. I am enough. I am loved.So today I write.~ Deon

13 thoughts on “Rise

  1. Thank you, Deon, for listening to God and sharing your vulnerability with us. I’ve missed your writing. Praying for you! ❀️

  2. Once again, the words that He has given you, have touched my heart, as they have each time I’ve read your writings. Thank you, Friend. God is good.

    1. Thank you so much my friend! God is so kind to give me words that touch people. I’m very grateful! ❀ WordPress has removed your name! Can you tell me who this is?

  3. You have a gift that draws others in… into your story and into the grace and strength He gives YOU . Keep writing, Deon. Be afraid and do it anyway. Love, B.

    1. Thank you sweet friend! You have always been such a beautiful and kind encouragement to me. ❀

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