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On December 31, 2012, I wrote a blog post about letting go. And I swore to myself it was not about letting go of my blog or writing—and yet that is exactly what happened. It slipped away from me in the midst of the mess of life.

And I’m okay with that.

Letting go was just what I needed to do. I needed to let go and stop picking through the mess of my life trying to find the most presentable pieces to write about. Everything I write is authentic, as well as vulnerable. But even I could see—I left some pretty gaping holes.

And I’m okay with that.

The journey is a sacred one and not always meant to be processed publicly in real time. I needed to let go and process in my own time what God wanted to do in my heart without the blazing reminder of the right-hand sidebar image promising: New Post Every Thursday.

I needed to reflect on the gaping holes you never saw and give myself space to process without wondering how a zillion (okay, more like just a few) would view me (judge me). I needed to start writing just for me.

I think I started slipping away in November when I began to write One Thousand Words each night before bed. It was my way of fending off the fear of forgetting my Dad

My one thousand words turned into thousands of words and then—all of a sudden, it stopped. I stopped. I closed up my journal. Shut off my laptop. And stopped writing—c.o.m.p.l.e.t.e.l.y.

And I’m okay with that too. Really, I am.

Because I never stopped processing, I never stopped the journey, I never stopped God from healing me. I just stopped doing it in front of you.

And I’m okay with that.

And I’m okay that I fell into the number one killer of bloggers: Inconsistency.

Oh well.

I want to say I’m back. But at this point I’m not sure there is anyone left to say it to.

And I’m okay with that too.

Really this was never about blogging. This was not even about writing. Not about raising my numbers of friends or followers, likes or comments. This was always about one thing.


And honestly, I never knew that until this very moment. Really.

This. Very. Moment.


And on December 31, 2010 I heard the voice of my pastor boom into my head the very thing I’ve heard him preach over and over. (paraphrase)

What is the last thing God asked you to do? You want to move forward in your destiny?—than do it. Do the last thing God asked you to do.

The last thing God asked me to do was to write. And not write just anything, but write my authentic journey of my soul. His ultimate call was to trust and obey—even in my vulnerability. So, I stopped praying about destiny, and started moving into it. I posted my very first blog that same day because I chose to trust and obey God.

I realize now I became confused about destiny. I believed destiny to be a something I do, a title I wear; speaker, writer, etc. And yet, it makes destiny to be so much about me— instead of God. My destiny is meant to bring Him glory. My life brings glory to God by becoming healed and whole.

And this might be a shocker to you, but I can’t become healed or whole without God. I can be a great speaker, fantastic writer, get published and tour the country. But those things will never make me healed or whole. They just won’t.

Healing and wholeness comes only from God, by way of vulnerability.

And wouldn’t you know it—I become vulnerable with my words…as a speaker and as a writer.

This month is my ten year anniversary of my Vulnerability Ministry. I just now (yes—right now) realized that is what it is. Sure, I could call it a Speaking Ministry, Writing Ministry, even a Prophetic Ministry—but those names are starting to grate on me and feel ridiculously puffed up. Every talk I’ve given, every workshop I’ve led, every blog I’ve written, every prayer I’ve prayed over someone has one common denominator—Vulnerability.

And when I am vulnerable—the most unexplained things happen. Others become vulnerable, which leads to their own healing and wholeness.

Because vulnerability is contagious.

It’s suddenly finding out you are not the only one in the room or world that thinks the ways you do, or struggles the way you do. It’s as if everyone takes the first deep breath in a very long time and says, “Wow, you too? I thought it was just me.”

And finally for the first time for many we stop pretending—we become human together. It’s a beautiful and freeing thing.

Vulnerability is a choice I make to become whole. But it’s not just about me and my healing, it about yours too. I choose to be vulnerable first for my own healing, and then for yours.

And ultimately to bring Him glory.

And really, I’m MORE than OK with that.


~The journey is always sweeter with you. Will you come along? Let’s journey together.


p.s. It feels good to be back.