The Wreckage

Today, I was legitimately discouraged. It took something so small, something that wasn’t truly that meaningful, to derail my thoughts. You know how that is? I felt like I was standing off to the side as I watched a train fall off the tracks, saying, “Wait! What! No! Cut it out!” I was helpless.

It only takes a moment, friends, for doubt to captivate you.

Don’t let it.

I know, you want someone to feel sorry for you. You want someone to comfort you and tell you that, “It’s okay, next time will be better.” I do it too. I want to tattle on the devil and hope someone will lift me back up again. Like a cowering puppy. Remind me I’m worthy! Remind me that I am allowed to be derailed!

almost threw in the towel. I began to type things in my google search like, How to make my blog better, How to be a better writer, How to be… I began looking for answers amongst people’s thoughts and opinions, proven techniques!, thought processes, classes. Swirling and sinking, thoughts continued to derail down paths I hardly ever go down.

Thoughts like, This is useless. I will never be better. I am not better. I cannot be great at this.

Of all parts of my life, this one feels the most vulnerable, the part of me that wants to be a writer, an author, a word weaver. I’m scared to be the best in this, because I hardly ever believe that I am. I don’t doubt myself much when it comes to everything else, for most everything else I have the opinions of others to rely on. But here, when it’s just me and my thoughts, me and you, me and woven strings of myself…I get cowardly. I doubt myself. I watch trains derail, and I am not so certain that I was ever cut out for such a vigorous course as this.

I wanted someone to feel sorry for me. I wanted comfort, and a “It’s okay, someday you will be great” pep talk. I wanted to tattle to someone about how the devil hounds me. Like a little puppy, hoping for a snuggle and maybe a treat.

But I’m calling the bluff.

Sure, this is tough. I am not so sure that I will ever be the writer and author I dream of, but who says that the numbers, the quantity, or the infamy matters?

I will be derailed, probably sooner than I want to be. The doubt will always be waiting at my back door, searching for a moment to sneak in. And someone will let it in; someone always does. But I welcome the challenge.

It isn’t about waiting for the doubt to pass, insisting on another open door to jump off of your daunting cliff. I watched as the train derailed, and I lost my thoughts to lies that wanted to dock in my soul. They didn’t know they aren’t allowed here. So I seized this moment as the train ran it’s course, and I took the chance to jump. To find another place to land where I wasn’t planning to go. I stopped waiting for someone to hold my hand and give me a warm reminder of someday’s. I took His hand instead, and His promises clutched my today’s and tomorrow’s and gave me meaning where I had none. Meaning where I was only waiting for a someday. He gave me wings to fly, hope to rest on, joy to warm me.

I called the bluff.

And now my own wreckage is His masterpiece.

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