“Then they said among the nations, ‘The Lord has done great things for them.’ The Lord has done great things for us, and we are glad.” Psalm 126:3
If you follow The Asking Place, you know that this is not my first post. If you’ve followed long enough, you know this isn’t even the first gritty reboot of this blog. Wiping the slate is kind of a thing for me. I like to think it’s kind of a thing for God too, which puts me in good company.
When I created this site over two years ago, my life was on the near edge of its all-time low. Dark stuff. Heavy stuff. Lots of doubt and anger and self-hatred, the kind of thoughts that make you scared to turn off your lights each night. I didn’t lose my faith, but you might say I misplaced it. I think part of me chose to start a blog because I wanted somebody to talk to. Another part wanted to give hope to other people in the same place that I was, to remind them that you can be scared and uncertain and fallen and uninspired and not lose the name of Christian. The broken ones still count.
My desire to offer hope has not changed. But other things have changed since then. The long night is over; the sun is just over that hill. I decided to start fresh with this site in order to reflect a shift in perspective (though I have saved the old posts and may return to some of them). I think perhaps hope may prove more meaningful coming from the other side — from someone who yet remembers the terrain of the lost.
The verse at the top of this post is taken from a Psalm I used to read during a period when just lifting my Bible from my nightstand exhausted my spirit. I read as one starving for the image it painted, of a captive people rising to joy after a suffering so prolonged that it had become the only waking reality. I begged God to carry me through to that day. And so He has.
I am so humbled to have found joy again. I wasn’t sure I would. God knows I didn’t get here through patience and quiet persistence and good attitude. I am here by grace, a Christian-ese sentiment I could not in my heart comprehend until now. I am here because of a family who won’t show up to a pity party, because of friends more patient with me than I am with anything, and because of a Father who sat quietly through my raving and sobbing and accusations and completely, utterly failed to give up on me.
I think I will speak more on the above Psalm in my next post. But for tonight, and until then, many blessings on each of you who read this. I hope to write more soon.