I love words.

I own more books than I care to admit,

I read a lot of blogs,

I write this one

And write away in squared or lined notebooks with pretty covers.

I am also known for talking a lot.

But right now there is a lot of unknown in my life.

There’s a lot that scares me.

The words I’m choosing to read were first recorded thousands of years ago.

And the source of those words is where I’m often, sometimes not often enough, choosing to run.

I am grateful for the kind words from friends who listen and endure.

And I am astounded by God’s gracious leading, in the quiet and silence.

I’m slowly realising how often I place my worth in things that have no right to dictate it. I watch the numbers of friends, followers, likes or comments. I read what others are saying about others and think “Well, they’re not saying that to me.” I am filled with self doubt. A symptom of my heart, which so often struggles to remember what it is, whose it is.

Realising the cause, I choose to withdraw.

To withdraw from counting.

To withdraw from judging relationships in such a ridiculous way.

To withdraw from the things that are easy yardsticks but ones that lie.

And, as well as withdrawing from things I’m withdrawing to things.

Withdrawing to the quiet place.

Withdrawing to meet with God.

Withdrawing to ask the questions, withdrawing to receive the answers.

Withdrawing to receive grace and wisdom, that I may show it to others.

Withdrawing to real relationships based on more than numbers.

Withdrawing to remember who I am in Christ, what that looks like, what that means. Withdrawing to Him who died for me, who gives me the right to be called a child of God. Amazing.