It's always very difficult for me to write something after penning a post like the one I wrote Sunday night ... a post like that carries such deep meaning for me and causes such overwhelming emotion to course through my heart. I haven't been able to get the woman and her two small children off of my mind ... no, those words aren't accurate at all ... I can't get the woman and her children off of my soul. I've kicked myself over and over since I drove out of the Walmart parking lot for not asking what her last name was or getting her phone number so that I could do more to help her and her family. You see, it's hard to look past someone's pain when they tell you their story, and as we walked through the store on Sunday, Kate told me her story. Once you know someone's story, once you see someone's wounded heart, it's hard to look past a whole lot of things, friends.
When my brother Jerry used to ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I would always say one of two things ... a professional basketball player or a writer. I never was a very good basketball player, so that dream was nothing more than that ... a dream. And as for wanting to be a writer, I remember when Jerry would ask me what I wanted to write about, I would always say, "Fish. I want to write about fish." I have absolutely no clue where the fish thing came from, no clue whatsoever. But I have written a few blog posts about fish, so I suppose at least part of my dream to be a writer who writes about fish came true. It's in looking back on the years of my youth that I've come to realize something that I think might be rather important ... at least to me anyway. So many things I dreamed about seeing or doing or being when I was young just simply have not come true, and at this stage of my life some of them never will. Many of those dreams faded away as I grew older, and some of them I gave up on because I knew they would never happen. But the writer thing ... the writer thing has always been a part of me, and it probably will be until I draw my last breath. It doesn't matter whether I'm any good at it or not, writing is something that is etched into my soul the same as my tattoos are etched into my body.
When I was asked a week or so ago to write an article for an online magazine, I was ... well, I was just downright tickled pink. Except that I don't much care for the color pink, so it's more accurate to say I was tickled blue or red. I wrote the article, and it was posted on Sunday. And then Monday morning, I received an email from the editor asking if I'd like to write for the magazine on a regular basis. We talked about what type of material he was looking for, and I suggested he read my blog post from Sunday evening to get a better feel for my writing style. Well ... that post became my second article for the magazine, and it posted today. And guess what? Neither my first article nor my blog post article had anything at all to do with fish ... go figure, eh? But both of the articles did tell a story ... both articles told stories about my journey in life and about the role faith plays in the often uncertain pilgrimage that is my life these days.
Faith ... those of you who've been following my journey over the last couple of years know that my faith has taken quite a pounding. I know those of you who know me well are thinking ... "Geez, Terrie, that's an understatement if there ever was one." And you would be completely correct in your thinking, by the way. I've questioned God time and time again, and more than questioning Him, I've been abundantly angry with Him for more things than I have time to write about this evening. But ... even though there are so many things I don't understand and I know I never will, I will admit that I always have and always will believe that things happen for a reason. Having said that, I've been totally freaked out lately by the plethora of things that have happened that all seem to lead back to one apparent truth ... there's something I'm supposed to do. And what freaks me out even more is that over the last couple of weeks, I think God's been working triple overtime to cause me to redefine my tattered and bleeding faith. I think that's why I'm writing for the magazine, and I think that's why when I was discussing the opportunity to write the articles with a friend, I got an email from her today with these words, "You still have a ton more faith than 99% of people do. Maybe it would be refreshing for people to read from a perspective of someone who is in the process of redefining their faith."
So if that's part of my journey at this place in time ... being in the process of redefining my faith ... I think maybe I'm beginning to get a glimmer as to what my faith redefined should look like. I think perhaps it should look like Kate or Elizabeth or Gary or Russell or my neighbor kids or my family and friends who've remained steadfast in their love for me. I think perhaps it should look like seeing and being the woman God made me to be. I think perhaps it should look a whole lot like a Man Who dined with tax collectors ... Who rescued adulterous women from death ... Who healed lepers and spoke with prostitutes ... Who brought a little girl back to life ... Who loved ALL people freely, openly and unconditionally.
Is that what my faith redefined should like like? I think maybe so, friends ... maybe so indeed.
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