Attitude, not Ability

It's been awhile since I've written. I can't blame busyness; it’s been more out of fear that I’ve dropped the proverbial pen. Fear that I’m not adequate, fear and pride that these measly words don’t reach many and thus have less meaning. Basically a mess of: bogus, debilitating, disheartening, discouragement.

Maybe I got caught up in reading “successful” blogs that reach thousands, get hundreds of comments, and shares and thought; where do I fit? What’s the point? Or even the ugly jealousy of “why theirs not mine?” Today I refocused. What those blogs have is heart, honesty, and perspective—all things I possess. I remembered that I can’t write for an audience. I have to write from my heart, that’s what connects people. Transparency is freeing. I’m adequate and able for MY task at hand, which right now is for YOU, the person reading this, you are my audience, for that I am grateful. I am thankful that my worth is not based on the extent of my outreach. I have to be content where I'm at. My perspective has been fought for, and it’s purposeful. I can’t shrink back from it.

Kenya is less than TWO MONTHS away. It’s easy for me to be future focused; it still seems so far away, but I know it will smack me in the face in fear and joy on June 20^th. I’ve been amazed that encouragement has come at just the right time. In unexpected places—my grandpa is a “retired” pastor, who still works in prison ministry and out of the blue he called me last week saying that his old friends were visiting and that he wanted me to talk to them. I knew he was connected, but I was still shocked to find myself speaking with the FINANCIAL DIRECTOR’S WIFE of SIM, the organization I am going with. Her encouragement and prayer was exactly what I needed. Today I was reminded in the midst of a mental tangent of “what if’s” about my “inabilities” and hearing loss related worries about the trip; that my inabilities don’t define me.  Maybe it was brought on by the anticipation of my annual hearing check-up next week. Today, just like the Israelites, I needed the reminder that my stuff isn’t the underlying or determining factor in my circumstances—my God wills and works for His glory and good pleasure. He hems me in. He makes his power perfect and beautiful in my weakness.

Additionally, I am thankful for the writing of many who have suffered well before me—Joni Eareckson Tada, Kelle Hampton, John Knight, Shanna Groves, and others who show me that attitude is pivotal. Joy is a choice. Disability is an opportunity, not a sentence. Daily I choose whether I worry about losing more hearing, being embarrassed, and missing out; or I choose joy, honesty, accepting that life is hard but there’s hope and humor. I can’t change my hearing ability but I can change my attitude. Today, with the wind in my hair and the sun on my face, I choose gratitude and joy, for where I am and where I’m going.