However, I’ve realized that I can’t have everything I want. I need to choose, and God’s let me know that, in this season, He would have me lay down my writing and speaking.
I was obedient to Him when He first called me to thosethings. I’m going to be obedient to Him now and step away from those things. I feel called to make my life smaller. Less loud. Less filled with stress.
I’ve canceled my upcoming speaking engagements, and I will not be completing my next Bible study on schedule, if at all. I know that many of you were counting on me, and I’m profoundly sorry to disappoint you.
As I write this, I’m aware of how many things can be taken away from us in this life. Career. Reputation. Wellness. Truthfulness.
For the next several months, I plan to embrace the one thing that can’t be taken away: my identity as a child of God. It’s that identity that has freed me to be honest with you.
While in the dark cave of addiction and recovery, it has comforted me to remember that Jesus’s body spent time in a dark cave, too. He did not remain there, however. At the appointed time, God called Jesus out of the cave, back to life and light. God hasn’t forgotten those of us who are languishing in dark caves. He’s calling us back to life and light, too.
Instead of leading you forward as we chase hard after Christ, I’m simply hoping for the chance to walk beside you.
I’m very, very grateful for you.
Love, Genevieve
She posted the letter on the front page of her website. Methodically, she visited each of her social media platforms. On Instagram and Facebook, she posted the entire letter. On Twitter, she linked to the letter.
After that frenzy of emotion and typing, she shut her computer and set her phone to Do Not Disturb.
The calm surrounding her took her by surprise. She’d just incited her own personal calamity, and it seemed that should comewith shrieking sirens and the roar of a train and the smashing of glass and a whirlwind of air.
Instead, she was sitting safe and warm inside her cottage. Smoke slipped into the sky from a distant chimney. A bird soared against the backdrop of charcoal-edged clouds.
She could sense the furor she’d created. It was large and would grow larger in the coming days. There would be reactions and judgment and controversy and differing opinions.
And yet ... she didn’t feel the need to wade into any of it. At least not yet. Maybe never.
For now, she just wanted to rest, bathed in God’s approval and in the certainty that, for better or for worse, she’d done the irrevocable thing He’d called her to do.
When she stood, it felt as though shackles of guilt were cracking open and dropping away from wrists and ankles. Jesus Himself had bought and paid for her freedom.
Ben
Our rescuers are close.
Their machines have been lifting away layers of this building for most of the day. I’ve been drumming my fingers on the concrete for what seems like hours, because I’m so desperate to be free.
Suddenly a grinding, scraping noise fills the air, so loud that we all jump and cover our ears. Our floor jolts, the way it did during the earthquake. Fear slams me.
No!We can’t die now. They’re so close. So close!
The wall across from us releases from its position. The girls scream as it crashes down. I duck and protect my head. The heavy slab lands just a few feet away from my legs. The wall at my back and the floor below shudder.
No!
Noise like thunder. A cloud of dust all around.
I wait, without breathing, for the wall behind us to flatten us.
Instead...
It holds, protecting us from the falling debris above.
It holds.
It holds.
