I have sat here a million times in front of this screen. I have deleted a million posts, writings and pages. I have wondered if anyone is even listening.
I have skated past the idea that what I say would affect someone, or that anyone would even care. I have moved past those who would engage in debate with me because well that’s what they do. I shouldn’t believe in Jesus, He doesn’t exist, He’s not listening, the Catholic church will have me going to hell and is a den of lies and pedophiles. I am a fool to believe God has a plan for me and I am a fool to have left it all behind, I may even be crazy. Is anyone even listening?
I have questioned my writing when sometimes I just want to be silent. I have questioned the exposure of my life to criticism, and fought the Lord on continuing to tell my tale. I have left my writing desk and never wanted to return. I have found moments of inspiration but then realized I don’t have one billion followers, an instagram account full of accolades of myself and a self-written LinkedIn bio that tells the world how skilled and wonderful I am. I stopped including pictures in my posts, well because I wanted to focus in on the talent God gave me- writing. But then I won’t have followers because you can’t draw anyone in unless there’s a pretty picture to lure them in. I’ve refused to go back to my past life, I wear a veil for mass and I believe in a God that every Sunday is nailed to a piece of wood. I still want to write, but I can’t. I mean, who is listening anyway?
God whispered all week, small is really big, it’s the one person, the one who needs to hear it. So I concentrated my efforts on believing that- that I really could affect someone’s life. A word, a gesture, the right place at the right time. There is someone who only I can reach. There is someone who will be listening, that needs to be listening. That I am important, my words are important to that person. So I chose to believe God, accepted an invitation to speak. And there was the one. Tears in the back of the room. Right time, right place. I didn’t read the gospel off a piece of paper, I just told her what happened to me.
And today I wanted to run away from writing, I mean what’s the point anyway? Who will listen or care? I didn’t need confirmation or accolades. I didn’t care about followers, I was so past all of that. I was in a Solomon inspired moment- it is all vanity.
But in my love for Him, in the confines of my closet, I finished my soliloquy- He was waiting for me to be done. Then so clearly as I whispered under my breath , who am I writing for anyway, why am I writing Lord, He answered- for an audience of one.
It couldn’t have been louder. He explained to me that everything I do is for Him, and He is there watching. He is the only audience I’ll ever need. And my words and my life are meant to please only Him. To glorify Him. And when I am doing what I was created to do, using the gift He’s given me, I am seeking first the kingdom of God. I am performing only for Him.
And my attitude changed, and I my spirit lifted, He could see me! My words suddenly had some lasting meaning, substance, a purpose. I wasn’t a nobody. I was sharing my heart with the world, but really I was sharing my heart with Him.
So Lord, I pray my words please you and put a smile on your face. I pray you use me to be a fisher of men. And I am making my way to understanding your happiness, and the ways in which you manifest yourself.
My Lord and My God