I was quiet about it at first. I was a bit embarrassed over such a personal, belief-soaked essay being out there.
Views on Israel, views on faith. Pictures of us. It was big. Kinda nuts.
All gorgeous pics, like this one, are by the superbly talented Mel Willms.
Believe me, the version before the snipping of the editor’s knife was much scarier, much more sensory in terms of oh, a scene where I am without shirt, without bra, getting hooked up to an EKG.
It’s scary to be raw and real. To put yourself out there, like a piece of white bread that can be wiped, smeared, and ripped.
You know, though? Freedom lives in truth and truth is true healing.
Truth doesn’t have to be fancied up or spun. There is the moon, there is sun. There is us. It is not so hard.
I am checking my motivation and wanting the kind of freedom that shakes the other stuff away.
I believe in the power of real free speech.
I don’t ever want to hide under a bushel, under a veil or screen if it means something is missing.
Let it be that I am an encourager, one who battles to make a way.
This is the start of bigger writing, maybe.
More evidence of really living and not being so quick to hide.
I have lots more stories of nerves getting hold of me, but the stories of launching my body over
a pole are quickly overtaking the fearful tales. The faith is winning, most days.