Clean Britches

My two year old has always liked the way I loudly and somewhat melodiously (not really), in my best attempt at being a baritone, sing the phrase "clean britches" to him while hauling him to the changing table to handle yet another "stinky-shooey."  He laughs and tries to imitate me.  Moments later, sporting an unsoiled diaper and the fresh scent of baby wipes, he bounds through the house with a little spring in his step.  Getting clean will do that for you.

At some other point in time I texted a friend.  I apologized for the time (some ridiculous hour before the sun came up), saying I had to send the message before I got sucked back into the world of diapers and dump trucks and totally forgot.  In her reply she chuckled and said that would be a great name for a blog.

And suddenly there it was, on a screen; confirmation of the nudging I'd been feeling in my spirit for months.  Writing has been part of who I am for as long as I can remember.  I knew as far back as fifth grade when I won the Lt. Governor's Award for writing that regardless of whether or not anyone ever read another word I wrote, there would never be a time in my life when I would not feel compelled to put pen to paper.  

After a few failed attempts at getting my writing noticed I spent many years writing only for myself or my students.  I became a blogger while I was a missionary serving in Iquitos, Peru because it was the easiest way to maintain communication with my supporters while also giving me time to hone my craft and begin to find my voice.  On my return trip to the U.S. I managed to contract a raging case of writer's block.  A mere six posts over the past three years, that's it.  Other than journaling that's all the writing I've done.

But God has been speaking to my heart now for longer than I would like to admit.  He's been calling me to write.  Not for me, but for Him.  I haven't been listening.  Well, I have, but I've been ignoring Him.  Fear has paralyzed me.  Fear of the rejection and stinging criticism of something so personal.  Yet each time I say I'm scared He replies, "It's not about you."  As only God operates, He initiated a string of events, a series of coincidences (i.e. random encounters with just the right people, particular Facebook posts or specific Tweets, a book, a free opportunity to hear 20 different leaders, writers, and speakers, etc.) to be the bonk on the forehead necessary to spur me to action.  I took notice.  I mean, there are only so many bonks you can endure before you get a headache!

Last night I listened to Glennon Doyle Melton, a highly sought after author and speaker among Christian women, talk about her fears, and the messiness and history of addiction that is her life, and her desire to be authentic.  Then midnight rolled around and Friday became Saturday - October 10 - a very important day in our family - my little boy's Adoption Day.  I sat on my couch in the 2 a.m. silence and prayed, my heart pounding so hard and loud I was scared it would wake everyone up, and said yes to God's call.  If He has gone to the trouble to orchestrate a thousand circumstances to get my attention, and caused them to simultaneously converge on the day we celebrate a major miracle in our lives, then the time has come for me to walk in obedience. 

To do this right means putting on some clean britches.  Renaming the old blog will not do.  It's time for the fresh scent of a new start.  And my friend was right, Diapers and Dump Trucks is a catchy title.  I like it.  But it's also symbolic.  You see, my life moves in a constant cycle: from a bright white unspoiled canvas, to a dirty mess, to cleaning up the mess (diapers), to hauling off the mess (dump trucks), to breaking out another blank slate and starting over again.  So here I am on a brand new blog, ready to see where God takes me.