An excerpt from the new book,  One Bloody Road: The Glorious Way of Discipleship:

“No matter how many times I sacrifice in order to lift someone else, there is always another opportunity for me to put aside my own accomplishments for somebody else’s success….If God truly is our source and supply, then He can never be exhausted and there will never be a limit to what He is able to do, even when we spend our lives lifting others and disregarding our own advancement. In fact, it pleases the Father’s heart to have kids who give their lives for their family.”

Chapter 6: Abundant Life

ALWAYS ASPIRING

The first time I published my writing, it looked for a while like it would be the last. When I was around twelve or so my parents ponied up to have a poem of mine put into a pay-to-play anthology. I think I fell in love with the thought after I saw an ad in one of those book club catalogues you get in grade school. Somehow I convinced my parents it was key to the growth of my self-image that I got that poem “published.”

Ever since, I have identified internally as a writer. I have always viewed writing as a gift, and I have always written for pleasure. However, since I never whole-heartedly devoted myself, never finished my education, never pursued a career to develop my skills, and never purposed to complete any of my “visionary” writing ideas, my internal identity slowly morphed into an internal paradox of frustration. Once the frustration settled in, comparison became a huge part of how I approached others and their writing. Because of the insecurity that arose from having nothing to show for this “talent” I possessed, I was on a mission to diminish others by believing they must have had silver spoons or handouts to get where they were. Breaking others down was the only way I could justify my own lack of confidence.

Needless to say, it was a pretty miserable way to view life. My relationship with writing became strained. There was no joy left in the process for me. It got to the point where the only time writing brought happiness was when it could somehow lead to recognition or at least a pat on the back from the people I love. But buried somewhere under the frailty of my insecurity, their was a desire to see this part of my life used to inspire others and bring glory to God, lying in wait.

This post is part of a series titled, A Written Redemption: The Breaking of a Writer.  (Links below)

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