They say that confession is good for the soul.
I'm not sure who "they" is, but when I speak a thing out loud, even if it's scary and vulnerable, I feel a little more free and a little less chained to what holds power over me.
So today, I confess a few things to you.
Not horrible things, but very vulnerable ones.
Not sin, but hard things to speak about.
And just like I promised in my Word of the Year email (CLICK HERE if you need some help choosing one), it has to do with this gentle friend that guides me through my year and why I picked her (or, to be honest, she picked me).
2021 was a year unlike any other for me. Not because of this dreaded plague, even though, just like you, I feel exhausted from all the adjustment, anxiety and downright anger about it.
2021 was the year that much in my life came undone and unraveled.
At first, it felt scary and awful.
What I had held onto with my whole heart, invested in with every fiber of my being, and preached about from the rooftops came apart.
I cried a bunch.
I got angry a lot.
I talked and prayed and wrote.
It all felt a bit like a giant Jenga game.
As I pulled out one small brick, others come tumbling down.
But something strange happened in the middle of it all.
As I removed bricks and my carefully-crafted tower looked odd and precarious, I felt a little bit freer.
Almost as if I didn't care if all the bricks came tumbling down at once into a jumbled heap on the floor in front of me. Almost hoping that they might.
And boy, did they!
Bricks like CERTAINTY ("I am completely sure of exactly what I believe about every single thing and I'm in the right and have nothing to learn.")
and COMMUNITY ("I have this particular way of being with people and it cannot change ever.")
Lots of bricks.
Laying in a heap in front of me.
Thus my Word of the Year for 2022 - BUILD.
As I look at this pile, some of the bricks that I had counted on to hold up all my long-term, elaborate structures are broken into a million pieces. They are useless. They need to be thrown into a dumpster.
But others survived the fall. They are whole and good and sound and useful and necessary for me to build a new way of being, a new way of living.
and of course, the BRICK that is the foundation of it all...
The Tender Lover of My Soul
These are what I want to BUILD with.
These are what I am counting on to hold me, guide me, bring me continued and much-needed help and healing.
What might it mean for you?
It might mean that I don't have hard and fast answers, but perhaps more questions.
It might mean that you may notice a shift in my words that hold wider space for this heart and home journey we are all on.
It might mean that it's all a bit uncomfortable, but it also might mean that we'll all grow and BUILD spaces that make room for God to move and work and live in us.
And there's nothing I want more than that.