I’m not sure why the need for a real blog in 2019.
People have done crazy things because of the voice of God. Joan of Arc led armies, I start a blog.
It appears the Spirit works on different scales of action.
It’s taken me two years to write a real post. The holdup has not been that I lack passion or focus on what I care about. One look at my bookshelf and Google search history tells you exactly what I’m dedicated to. The holdup is the belief that I don’t think my voice makes any sort of difference one way or another, and that it is ostentatious to assume its contribution is more beneficial than to simply keep consuming education for my own benefit. But perpetual input without output results in stagnation. Every receptacle reaches a certain capacity for retention before it simply cannot contain any more. I believe my mind has reached that point.
I’m not a pastor, not a counselor, not an activist. I’m a regular person. I’ve only ever wanted to know if God was real and if he cared about things that were real to me. If he wasn’t, and didn’t, I’d be on my way. But he is, and he did, so here I am. A heart that loves God, loves all people, and wants others to know this love. It’s really not that complicated, but my mind likes to think so.
What do I care about? The God I am loved by. I want everyone to know what a relationship like this feels like. But I see in my religion a grievous error standing in the way – the sin of arrogance, blindness, pride, aloofness to the suffering of others. Specifically, the lack of willingness to even hear those who have been on the receiving end of pain through the centuries.
My country. These are my people. I love it, and them, and desire nothing more than to see the entire population united to God in love. But that relationship must come hand in hand with justice rolling down like waters, righteousness like an ever-flowing stream. Otherwise it is meaningless.
I have no interest in a faith without works, a religion without application, a relationship to the Holy claimed without any evidence of the heart of God. I aim to show my brothers and sisters what it looks like when God is real and allowed to really change you.
How do I then love?
“Tell your story” is what I hear; I don’t know what that means. What part? Where do I start? I think. I think. What if I stopped thinking?
I was born, barely, and grew up. I was an addict, and am not. I loved myself, then God, then others too, then finally myself again. I got sick and got better. I worked, and I left. I worked more, and work now. And I write. And I care; I care a lot.
My name is Autumn and I think a lot of thoughts.
My name is Autumn and I feel a lot of feelings.
Welcome to my blog.