This year, the year 2020...well, let's just say it's been a year. In my life, there has been the odd year like this in the sense of the "unthinkable" happening. I remember the stock market crash of 1987; the day troops were sent to the Middle East for the Persian Gulf War; the fall of the twin towers in 911; Hurricane Katrina; Hurricane Sandy; Hurricane Harvey; and ISIS.
But none of these events have shown the complete upheaval of a nation, the insanity of lawlessness, the shocking reaction by people of all ages, backgrounds, and stations in life. Wow.
My anchor holds.
And this is the gift I want to give my children.
I'm ashamed to admit that I tend toward fearing people, fearing their opinions, their rejection, their negative thoughts directed toward me. I've toyed with the idea of blogging again for over a year now. I have friends and family in my camp with respect to me picking up writing again.
And so I looked at my motivation. I considered who I might become if I start writing again. I considered what it would look like if I didn't. Well, actually, no one would know the difference. But if, by what I write, I might encourage my precious gifts from God (my children), to stay the course, to stand firm, to keep the faith,...then for sure, I must write.
I look at the world my children are entering into, and I know I can't remain silent. I must share what God has taught me and continues to teach me.
So, my audience is not the world. My audience is my children. If they choose to share with the world, if the world wants to listen in, I don't mind. Just remember, I'm human, and therefore not perfect. By nature of the short discourse, a blog leans toward being unbalanced--pointing to a specific thought, a specific moment in time, a specific emotion, a specific truth, a specific topic.
So my dear children, know that I love you. You know me. You know I'm not perfect. But you also know my heart's desire: to believe God, love God, and abide with Him. As I watch the storm beginning to engulf the world and listen to it thunder in distant places like Seattle and Chicago, I know there is not much time left.
Take hold of the anchor, my dear ones. We'll make it through.
"Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast,..." Hebrews 6:19a
