In This Storm

The reason I keep coming back to this medium of blogging is, quite honestly, how it encourages my spiritual growth.

And the reason I keep wondering why I keep coming back to this medium is, quite honestly, how it encourages my spiritual growth.

Because spiritual growth does not happen outside of dying to self and I have a lot of dying to do.

In this blogosphere, I have made some friends.

I think.

Because it can be hard to know when you can’t actually see faces, hug bodies, and hear tones of voice.

So, when I ship a little something off to someone I just adore and never hear a word… I wonder.

I wonder lots of things.

Did she receive it?

Did she not like it?

Does she not like me?

Did I overstep some kind of blogger boundaries? (Because I am pretty much a mess when it comes to real-life social norms - I can easily believe that I could have completely messed up these blogging basics.)

And if I have shipped something off to you, this isn’t necessarily about you. Okay? And if I asked for your address recently and you haven’t received anything, it’s not lost it the mail (Anita). Okay? I’m just rambling about accumulated experiences and I am overwhelmed with paperbackswap and need to put myself in vacation mode and with life and am moving a little slowly these days.

Occasionally I have sent a little something to someone (because I love to do that) and never heard a word.

The first thought that pops to mind (after all of those other thoughts about whether I am liked, have any value to anyone, etc., etc.) is:

“You dolt.” (Because I tend not to talk very nicely to myself.) “How many times have you done that to other people? It’s not about you.”

I really need to work on my language, I admit. And my “self-talk.”

But the truth remains:

It’s not about me.

It wasn’t about me in the first place. I wanted to send a little encouragement. Maybe even felt the Holy Spirit nudging me to send a little encouragement.

So I did.

And hopefully...it encouraged.

To do so much wondering and belaboring forces me, if I am listening, to take stock. Were my intentions really so pure after all? I’m hardly above having wrong motives from time to time.

What if somewhere deep down my intentions weren’t so pure.

Maybe somewhere deep down there’s a little girl just wanting to be liked. To be friends. To have a friend. Maybe it’s so deep down I draw a quick, shocked breath as I even consider it - let alone write it out loud.

So…What if?

Well, it doesn’t mean that person didn’t need encouragement.

And it doesn’t mean the Lord might not use me to encourage.

And it doesn’t mean, I hope, that I need to disconnect from the internet immediately and get into counseling. (Hush, Mark.)

He uses us ~ even broken-hearted little girls dressed up in the bodies of thirty and forty-something-year-old women.

In fact, maybe He uses those broken hearts in particular.

It does mean, however, that I need to get over myself.

Because at thirty-seven I am far too old to be mulling over in my head whether I messed up by sending someone a little gift.

Had I sent them an undisclosed white powder in a box with no return address, clearly that is another issue entirely.

But why entertain angst for sending someone a book?

It’s not about me.

And yet somehow everything is about me ~ when I am listening.

About me being drawn deeper into a God I can’t begin to comprehend.

About Him using me to draw others deeper into Him.

Even the little girl parts of me that are wrapped up in the body (albeit one that is falling apart) of a thirty-seven-year-old.