“It is ridiculous that I am even starting a blog! I don’t even read any blogs!” Doubt was creeping in on the call to write publically about our special needs journey. 

“If our story helps one person, it will be worth it.” Matt said. He spoke the words I had shared with him after hearing from God. He was right: if it only helped one person, it was worth it.

In the 6 years leading up to that moment, we shared our story with friends and family. As we were open about our pain, it seemed to give others permission to share theirs. Our struggles were completely different, but the grief felt familiar. We were able to share comfort and speak truth, reminding one another of God’s faithfulness and kindness. 

Despite knowing this, doubt was creeping in. 

Throughout my life, writing has been a secret place, an outlet to create and inspire or vent and process. At times I would write poems for friends or family members. Occasionally lyrics to a song would work their way onto paper, but never anything so public as a blog. Writing a blog would invite others into my secret space and I wasn’t sure I wanted that. 

As a teenager dreams of being an author filled my heart. I imagined the childrens books I would write. I imagined children snuggled up with their mom or dad at night, listening to the words of my books. They would giggle at the silly parts and grow silent when a meaningful moral called to their hearts to pause and ponder.

By my early 30s, I had 4 rowdy, hilarious, strong-willed kids, 6 and under, and we were five years into starting a church in the city of Chicago. All my dreams of being an author had been put to rest many years prior. The thought of writing sounded like another thing to get done.

Life had taken its toll. Raising four kids, the responsibility of church leadership, caregiving our special needs daughter without family nearby…I was spent. My passion and desire for writing had faded. What was once a creative outlet that brought me life now felt like a drain. 

But God clearly stepped in my way one day. At a church leadership conference I was asked to give an update on what God had done in my life. It was six months post caregiver burnout, and God had graciously met me. I was honored to give a brief testimony to His goodness. 

Standing on the stage, peering past the bright lights to see faces of friends and family. I shared dark details of suicidal thoughts, years of depression, life not being what I expected and how God graciously met me. I found myself closing with “I stand before you, both broken and content.” The crowd was on their feet applauding. Tears and trembling overwhelmed my body as I walked off the stage. 

For the rest of the conference, people kept finding me, thanking me for my vulnerability and trust in God. The sentiment was that permission had been given. Permission to be 100%  honest with how we are with God and others. Permission to know that God is strong enough for our darkest seasons and we can have confidence that He will work through them. 

My mama’s words kept ringing in my ears as I listened to people’s stories. “God is strong enough for all your emotions.” 

Standing in worship, arms raised and singing at the top of my lungs, overwhelmed by the goodness of God I heard the Holy Spirit’s whisper so clearly in my mind. “Write your story.”  I could not deny what I had heard. It was clear from the response of others that this was a needed message. 

Coming home from the leadership conference, I was inspired and excited. It was early March of 2020. I decided to start a thirty-day writing challenge on Instagram, inviting friends to join me. One week into the challenge, the world shut down. All the kids came home. Finley was a mess, throwing daily tantrums about not being at school. We all felt it. 

Smiling to myself as I found early morning pockets to write each day, I was struck by the timing of it all. I would think from time to time, when I have more time, maybe I will write. Here we were, all at home, in March in Chicago where winter would last for at least a month more, if not two. All of us were adjusting to pandemic life, all of our rhythms were shot. Our life, along with the rest of the world, was in upheaval. And I was writing. As I type these words (in 2023) I have a smile on my face, laughter in my heart and tears in my eyes as I think about the timing of God. Most of the time, I find it hysterically perfect. 

After a month of writing on Instagram, I was encouraged to start a blog, something I never ever in a million years thought I would be doing. 

After two years and 56 blog posts, one might think this would feel easy by now. Feeling inadequate and slightly lost, I continue to stumble my way through. At times I stare blankly at the screen. Other times typing out “I don’t know what to write” over and over again until the words come. 

Publicly writing has helped me see our story through God’s perspective, and to see more clearly what He is doing, the story He is weaving. 

Left to myself, my story would wreak of self-pity and victim hood, “the mother whose life was turned upside down and she never recovered.” What we tell ourselves about who we are and who God is holds weight. 

This shapes our thinking, and impacts how we live and relate to God.  

Psalm 19:14 says, “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.” 

These words were penned by David. Ever since my teenage years I have been inspired by his words. He was honest and raw with God, not hiding any of his emotions from God. Anger, deep grief, elated joy and every emotion in between can be found in the lines he so eloquently wrote.

“A man after my own heart,” is what God called him. What?! How is that possible? 

David was messy. David said things to God that should have offended God, I would think that God would have been irritated and put off, but not so. “A man after my own heart.” 

So, here I am, putting my messy self on paper. Airing out that I daily doubt the purpose of my public storytelling. Attempting to vent to God and put my eyes on Him. He is so faithful to lift our gaze to Him. 

Where does doubt creep in on your heart? What is the Holy Spirit whispering to you that you want to avoid? 

One of mine is writing. I love it and I doubt it. 

Encouraging comments I receive about my writing are lovely and are a sweet drink but doubt remains just below the surface. It may momentarily be lifted, but it doesn’t remain constant. Only when we look to God, who calls you and I by name, who knows all of our struggles and weaknesses, only then do the doubts quiet. 

Let us run this race for the joy set before us. Let us keep our eyes on Him, the one who is writing the ultimate story of His glory and His kingdom. I may never publish a book, but I want to be faithful to what God has called me to do. The future is unknown except for the hope and truth that God is there. 

• Calling
• caregiving
• cerebralpalsykids
• Grief
• Specialneeds
• Writing