I am out of the habit of blogging.
This will not come as a shock to anyone who has been keeping an eye on this space. My little corner of the internet has been pin-drop quiet for quite some time.
I took a break in the months leading up to my book deadline — but that deadline has come and gone.
I took a break in the weeks after my son was born — he’s eight months old now.
I took a break as we closed on and moved into our very first home — we’ve had an entire summer to settle in.
I took a break as we settled even deeper into Mississippi community — but that’s soil that’s proven to be fertile, and new relationships are sprouting up and rooting deeply and well.
I took a break as the school year started — but we are a month in and beautifully underway.
I took a break because I wasn’t as deeply entrenched in the Word as I should be before I start speaking. And while I’m still working on that, the overflow is burgeoning.
I could blame my silence on any combination of the above, but the truth is: I’m just out of the habit of blogging.
Running for Cover
I haven’t kept my finger to the pulse of current events lately. I’m vaguely aware of them, and I talk to my friends about them, but writing about them is intimidating.
Part of me wants to spin that intimidation into a tale of victimhood; to tell you I’m not writing because I’m afraid of all of the bullies on the Internet. And, actually, that’s partially true.
The Twitter streets are overflowing with rabid virtue-signalers of every religious and political persuasion, rolling in the mud of logs and specks. Brothers and sisters who ought to be showing love and deference to one another are lying in wait for each other to fail, anxious to pick up the bullhorn and alert the media when they do.
But it’s no pettier than the Judaizers in Galatians, and no more scandalous than the church at Corinth.
It’s definitely not more dangerous for me to speak up than it was for a Christian in ancient Rome.
That’s not to say it’s not hard for me to risk not being heard, understood, or liked. But hardness isn’t a reason not to speak up, even when my words are trembling and imperfect.
Charging Into Battle
Not to offer you hot takes — I am going to try really hard not to seek to convert present-day tragedies into more clicks and likes.
Not to add to the din and fight to make my voice heard — there are enough clanging cymbals ringing in ears.
Not to offer you a perfect alternative to the above — I’m a sinner and a (relatively) young one at that. I have much to learn, and I will fail.
But to offer up this little corner as a space for women who are striving to be faithful in their every day; for women who want to learn to:
- Listen carefully before they speak
- Cultivate relationships based on what we are for more than what we are against
- Walk in love that steers clear of the ditch of total acceptance of sin or total lack of grace and mercy
- Embrace the fact that we, as women, are created in God’s image and that the Word has things to say to us
- Remind ourselves again and again of who we are in Christ
- Invest in their in-person relationships more than they invest in online drama
Channeling my inner YouTuber to say welcome if you’re new here: I really hope I can deliver on the promises above! And welcome back if you’ve been watching this silent space; I finally have a few things to say.
I’ve been in Atlanta all week with my husband. We’re here half for ministry (for me), part for work (for him), and part for some quality time with just us two. We left on the heels of hosting my family all the way from Zambia. In fact, seven of my siblings, my mom, and my dad are back in our eighteen hundred square foot home with our sons. I should be laying in a hotel bed binging Parks and Rec with my husband. And I will be soon. But I have something to say about motherhood and mom guilt.
A few months ago, I wrote an article for Legacy about friendship. In it, I tried to be as honest as possible about the struggle of being a transplant in Mississippi’s foreign culture, and my own hang-ups with making new friends. I hit send. Weeks passed. A couple of months. Then the article went live. And I had more than one friend reach out to me and ask me if we were okay. “I thought we were friends!” Undercover Trust Issues I’m not a journaler, and I try not to use my articles as thinly veiled diary entries. However, there…