Finding the Courage to Live Boldly

I’ll be honest. I have been avoiding picking this blog back up for a while. Though this has always been a space where I share real life, somewhere along the line the brave boldness to share has been clouded with a fear that is hard to describe.

A part of it comes with age and experience. The realization that life is much grayer than I once believed. Another part comes from this imposter syndrome. The feeling of Who am I to share anything? I am messy, and imperfect, and flawed in so many different ways. It doesn’t feel like I am qualified in anyway to write anything that is nonfiction.

If you don’t know, the main form of writing I do is fiction. Contemporary romance specifically. I write what I want to read. A somewhat fast-paced, real-life story line where two people find their way to each other. I enjoy love stories with happy endings that hopefully leave you with all the warm fuzzies while getting you lost in all the feels along the way. At least, that’s what I strive for.

That type of writing comes naturally. My brain works in story lines: everyday life inspiring highlight reels in my mind that I need to jot down. And the best part is, it is all fiction. In my head, it doesn’t matter what happens because it’s not real; it’s not personal.

Writing about real life, that’s personal. And it is messy in ways that peel back your layers and make it feel like all your flaws have been put under a microscope. Things got tricky for me when I started to feel nudges to write more personally about my faith. Not because I am ashamed of my faith or want to hide my love for Jesus. It’s because writing in this nature feels like I am putting on a show. Like I am trying to pretend that I have all the answers. That my life is prettier or more perfect than anyone else’s.

Let me tell ya, that could not be further from the truth. I tell my friends that I celebrate the days that I put pants on. I am both kidding and not when I say this. Most days, it feels like I am just trying to figure it out. Be a good human. Make better choices than I did the day before. And teach my kids to be good humans.

Here’s the thing: what I've been marinating in, and the push I needed to sit down and open this blog back up. I never feel a peace like when I'm soaking in the presence of the Lord.

When life’s stresses get away from me—the busy schedules, the to-do lists, the intrusive Did I say the wrong thing? thoughts—and my anxiety rises, the one thing that will calm the storm that starts to brew in my chest is sitting with the Lord. It is cracking open the word and absorbing as much of it as I can. When it’s 2:00 AM and I can’t turn my mind off, I’ll read the bible, and only then finally be able to rest.

So, I had to make a choice: ignore this feeling and sit in a cycle of anxiety, or step into this space that brings calm and peace into my life. It was terrifying, but the desire to have that kind of peace won out.

I had been wrestling with my purpose. I knew that God had intricately woven a love for writing into my DNA. It’s more than a passion. It’s the only thing I can’t put down or ignore, no matter the season of life I’m in. Even when I’m swamped and overwhelmed, I cannot shake the burning need to create with words. When this blog started circulating in my mind again, I heard, “Just start writing. Be honest,” whisper over me, and I froze. I immediately thought, “But I’m a mess.” Then, just as clearly, I heard, “That’s. The point.”

A phrase a youth pastor at our church shared was, “Every believer is in ministry; you simply need to be willing to tell your story.” It was that last bit that got me. That we just need to be willing to share our story. The story that reflects our messy, imperfect lives.

Because that’s just it. We are all messy. We are all imperfect. We all need Jesus, a community around us, a community to encourage us, a place where we can go and be loved and poured into. A place where the atmosphere of “we listen and we don’t judge” isn’t just a funny catchphrase; it’s genuine. And then we need the brave boldness to simply get out of our own way. Even when doing so feels terrifying.

I’ll end here. We were sitting in church one Sunday, and the sermon was about being faithful. Continuing to be faithful. That God has a way of getting us where He wants us. So, friends, this is me being faithful. This is me finally giving in to this nudge, this calling I have felt for so long but have ignored and pushed away because I was scared—scared that my flaws would shine like a neon sign at night. I don’t know what it looks like moving forward. I just know life is better when I don’t fight what God is trying to do. So, I am bringing my perfectly imperfect self to put on display and hopefully share a bit of relatable, hope-filled stories with you.

xoxo

Brittany