Dear God,

 

For so long I’ve felt the pressure of wanting to be loved and important.  Because of the many obstacles between me and you, I haven’t often felt the love and significance that ought to come from being the adopted child of the KING OF THE UNIVERSE.   So instead, I make myself important and make darn sure that everybody loves me.  And since I know it’s wrong to boast and build myself up, I try and maneuver it so that I’m getting love and recognition for serving you.  But lately, I’ve started to see that the build-yourself-up strategy always leaves me cold and empty, and usually humiliated and bitter.  I can never make everyone love me.  I can never be so important that I won’t feel afraid anymore.  It will never be enough to fill up the very hungry beast in my heart.  Tears have come and gone.  I’ve cried out to you to give me something to know and trust, something I could feel and really sink my teeth into.  Most days, I don’t see it.   But then, in the midst of some pretty unpleasant circumstances, you prove it to me.  “God disciplines those he loves.”  Darn it.  “Why’d you have to definitively prove that you love me by kicking my butt?”  I retort.  “I’ve tried telling you the other ways, but you weren’t listening,”  you chide.  “Hmmpphh.  Point taken.”

 

Now I’m so used to learning the hard way, I can barely believe it when you teach me something without walking me through the fire.  That’s why I Peter 4:10-11 blows my mind.  “If anyone speaks, he should do it as one speaking the very words of God.”  What?  First, you love me and now I’m important?  I think I need to lie down.  So you’re telling me that when you tell me to speak or to write, I’m speaking your words.  How much more significant could I be?  The answer makes me shiver all the way to my insides.  It’s scary.  I can only see the many, many sins between me and carrying out of your purpose.  I see the big obvious ones like being unkind to my family and the subtle, manipulative ones like taking the glory for myself instead of giving it back to you.  There’s just no way I can speak on your behalf God.  I can’t do it.  I’m too immature and, well, I just can’t do it.  I want to, but I know I’ll just mess it up.   Maybe call someone else, because I am not your girl.

 

But I know I am, and just as I trusted you when you were walking me through a season of “discipline” (or should I say “love”?), I have to trust you as you walk me through a season of “calling.”  Good grief, I need to be careful what I ask for. 

 

Love,

 

Me

 

When God calls you to write (either specifically or in general) what is your response?  Do you feel the weight of I Peter 4:11 when you write?  How does his calling affect the writing process for you?

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