I Don't Trust Myself

I need to write something down but I don't know what. I'm not sure where this writing will take me, only that I must do it. I must get the words out, conquer my fear of writing the wrong thing. The fear of failure is a favorite trap of mine, and I fall for it over and over.

First I decide I can't write. WDC put a damper on that because total strangers liked the things I wrote. Coming from John, the compliments had less merit(or so I thought) because he's naturally biased on my favor. He told me I could write, but I didn't want to trust that. John is biased and I decided I couldn't trust Him or his opinion. So, I didn't trust his judgment.

But when multiple strangers encouraged me, I thought I might have something. Not much, not like those others who were real writers. But a little something that I might publish one day. A poem, perhaps, of an essay. Just once or twice---once to prove a can do it, and a second time to show it wasn't a fluke.

So, at this point I was trusting John's opinion more. I was thinking I could write and be published. My confidence was growing and I felt better about myself. So I kept writing. I was writing in the way of light-hearted poetry and children's poems and more of a reflective nature.

But I still struggled with the notion of "good enough." My writing was rubbish, or so I thought. Well, maybe not rubbish but not perfect, either. I didn't want the unfinished, the incomplete, the rough draft. Instead, I paralyzed myself with fear. If it couldn't be perfect instantly, why even bother? I'd only fail, and failing no makes you a failure---everyone knows that. I'd rather be mediocre at something familiar than risk something new and risk imperfection, mistakes, and failure.

Slowly, patiently, through all of this, Jesus was there. He led me to pray, to praise, to worship. At some point I realized He was actually there. The words I spoke out loud in these times started penetrating my heart, mind, and spirit. I said that Jesus loved me, that He was holy, mighty, worthy. I said He was my savior and messiah and redeemer. I said He was prophet, priest, and king. Slowly, steadily, He became real for me as all those things. I came to realize that I truly was loved by Jesus and that I always would be. He gave me, years ago, a promise. "I will be with you always." My. 28:20

Over and over again I came back to that verse, that one sentence, and etched it into my heart. Jesus is patient and steadfast, never quitting but patiently presenting Himself to me each time I need it. He is real. He is Lord. He is the Lion of Judah, the slayer of sin, the destroyer of death, and the breaker of evil. He is liberation from chains, healing from disease, and a joy indescribable in my spirit. Jesus taught me to listen to Him, and follow instructions. When told to pray out loud, I did; His voice spoke my words, written in my hand. Jesus made me feed myself His word, and I grew stronger and braver in Him. Now, today, I am writing, not k owing where I am going, but not afraid of failing. I know now that I can't fail. My hope, my faith, my trust is in Jesus now, and not in my own abilities. My abilities may fail me, but God never does. I know, because He told me, "I will be with you always." And He us.