How to leave the safe place

I was five or six when I got my first bike. I wanted to ride it so badly. I can still remember looking longingly at the brand new shiny paint, the awesome banana seat, and the rainbow streamers hanging from the handlebars. In my mind I could see my hair flying, legs pumping as I raced into the freedom

of fast.

But I could also see myself falling. I looked at the pavement and thought about how much it would hurt when I crashed into it. I longed for the freedom yet feared the failures I knew I would face in getting there. And like many things in my life, the fear of getting hurt kept me from going for what I really wanted.

I played it safe. I begged for the training wheels that would keep me upright and let me have the fun without the fear. I probably would have ridden it that way forever. But it wasn’t the same, and I knew it. In my heart I wanted more.

My family wanted more for me too. And they wouldn’t give up trying to get me there, even when I fought against it. Ultimately I learned to ride a bike because my parents wouldn’t let me stay in the easy place. They took the training wheels off and they stood around me as I took off, and then they ran next to me when my wobbly wheels took me terrified down the street. They cheered. They worked harder than I did. And when I fell, they ran and picked me up and hugged me. And put me right back on the bike.

I learned to ride a bike, as I learned so many other things, because they believed in me more than I believed in myself. The people who loved me cheered me on. But more than that, they pushed me beyond my safe place.

Now I am sitting on a college campus in San Diego at a conference that a few months ago I had never even heard of. I am here because of friends and loved ones who believe in me more than I believe in myself. They are pushing me beyond the safe place.

My writing life has faltered just like my early attempts to ride a bike. I’ve stopped and started so many times. I have had a few wobbly successes, and I’ve tasted the joy that comes from chasing a calling and a gift. But my eyes are often on the pavement, and as a result I often end up there. And so I go back to the training wheels, to the safe, comfortable place that doesn’t challenge me too much.

It doesn’t inspire me too much, either. And I doubt that it inspires anyone else.

I still don’t know exactly what caused my friends to decide that I needed to do this. But they did. I am amazed and overwhelmed that they went to such lengths to get me here. I’ll never forget the complete shock of opening that Christmas envelope and reading the words, “You’re going to the Storyline Conference!”

Knowing that my friends love me enough to dream this up, to scrape together the money to put me on a plane and send me to San Diego, makes me feel . . . believed in. It’s like being on a bike, surrounded by a community who says, “We love you and we know you can do it!” And now that I am here, I’m starting to believe them a little bit. With them running next to me, hands extended as I wobble along, I feel like maybe I want to try to go beyond safe. To plunge into the freedom of flying, knowing they will be there to pick me up when I fall.

So many of you are part of this journey. Thank you for believing in me. Thank you for reading this blog and sticking with all my inconsistencies and hesitations. Thank you for encouraging me. I feel overwhelmed with the blessing of such love and support. And I feel a responsibility too, in a good way. I think—no, I know—that God is calling me to write. I am not sure yet what or why or how. But you all have helped to confirm this calling.

I hope it will start here, with this blog. I hope God will just take it and use it somehow. Mostly I just want to plunge in and follow Him. I hope you will keep encouraging me, and I hope you will hold me accountable. I don’t want to just add to the noise. I want my words to do for you what you have done for me. I want to help hold you up and cheer you on as you wobble along on your own journey. After all, you have a calling too.

I hope I can be a part of it. Let’s go beyond the safe place and jump into this story all the way.

What God wears

My friend has a tattooed wedding ring.

I always thought that was bold and wonderful. A ring can be removed. A tattoo is permanent. You can't get rid of it without leaving a scar.

A tattooed wedding ring makes a statement. I'm in this for keeps.

What we wear gives us identity, belonging. I'm with him. I'm on that team. I support this cause. You can tell so much about people by the way they dress. Maybe that's why it is so important to us. Our adornments shape our identity.

I never thought much about what God wears. A quick word study reveals that He is clothed in power, majesty, and honor, girded with strength, robed in righteousness.

But God has a tattoo, too. In fact, He has lots of them.

"See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands;
Your walls are continually before Me" (Is 49:16).


That word, inscribed, it means "to cut in, to engrave."

He cuts our name into His hand. I'm in this for keeps, He says.

This statement of God comes in answer to the cry, "The Lord has forgotten me!"

He says, "Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you" (Is. 49:15).

I love to imagine the strong, beautiful hands of God, covered with the names of His children.

He wears us. We are a part of His identity. And He will not forget.