I started this blog to overcome writer’s block. There is so much inside and it hurts, almost physically, to not let it out. I search for words to express what is so wonderful or mysterious or strong – the revelation of God himself deep inside me. But it feels like I am trapped in some iron tank, banging on the walls, but no one is there to hear.

John Eldredge calls it “The battle for the heart”. The diabolical one sees the precious reflection of God’s wonder and beauty that begins to form in us and in his jealousy and spite he must squash it. If I could step aside, objectively observe the affair with spiritual vision, the attacks would infuriate me and I would engage eagerly. But I rarely can see it that way. Instead, I only hear my own thoughts accusing and deriding the passion of my heart…

“What you have to say is irrelevant.”
“You can’t find the words to express it because there is nothing there to express.”
“If God was so real to you, why do you still get depressed?”
“Sure, you want to be a writer and a speaker. Who doesn’t? Dream on…”

These voices have been loud this past year. And I have been silent.

Yet, the still small voice can be heard, even in this din. His voice is different. “The sheep hear his voice… they know his voice.” His voice is sweet and alive. It feels different when I hear it.

But the battle must still be fought. Which voice do I follow? Why do I stubbornly resist the voice of life? Is it really easier to take the low road and give in to the voices of hopelessness? Am I just lazy? Or afraid? Afraid of what? Failure? Disappointment?

Of course. The pain of disappointment goes deep. And it is familiar. It is the foe that faith must overcome. In the last few months, my faith has been rekindled and I am engaging again. This blog is part of the fight. I will write. I will try to release the life, whether anyone cares to read it or not.

I know better, certainly. I have received much encouragement from friends and strangers. My mind knows there is a good purpose in the writing. But the accusing voices inside can easily out- shout the kind voices outside. I am very grateful for those kind voices, for they echo the gentle voice of the shepherd and reassure. They are not enough by themselves, but they help in the fight. They are the voices of comrades in the battle line. I hear them. I hear the commander’s shout. And I move out again.

“You fill our hearts with more than we can hold inside and so we sing.”
– David Crowder

“He did not know how well he sang; It just made him whole.”
– Harry Chapin