On Starting Somewhere

In February 2018 I dropped and broke my brand new, current favorite Starbucks mug.

And something inside compelled me to take a photo. This mug had been gifted to me by a fellow teacher for a “Secret Santa” gift exchange, days before I walked out of the classroom I had worked towards since I was 19, vowing not to return. The culmination of 6 years of a good college education, 4 months of teaching, and one resignation letter I never imagined writing.

It was my shining glimmer of joy while I sat on the couch each morning and applied for job after job after job, with my fresh college degree and heavy sense of not using it for anything that it was intended for.

And it broke.

Am I crazy to say I cried over a chipped mug?

Because I did.

Funny how things like this can feel so symbolic for what feels like no reason at all. I look back on this season and can still feel the heaviness in my cold, dark, winter living room day after day. Running from the light trying to bounce off my computer screen while I attempted to find a sense of worth in having a job to show up to every day.

But the “something” that compelled me to take a photo of this silly old mug was Jesus.

He whispered oh so gently in that frigid February air, “Broken mugs still hold coffee.”

And my soul broke.

In a moment where I felt like that broken mug, He was reminding me that even wear and tear and shattered dreams still carry out his purposes.

And on that February 13th, 2018, He also whispered to me that He had things for me to say. (Don’t worry, I had to find the timestamp on that photo. I’m not that good.)

And to start this blog.

I spent hours of the boring, lackluster desk job I gained just 3 weeks later working on fonts and names and doing all the piddly procrastinating things you do when you’re not quite sure where to start.

I’d get some momentum and then stop again, call a friend and tell her to hold me to making just one post by ___ deadline, only to make excuses when I’d fall short.

Kinda like how it took Jonah one bad boat ride and a couple nights in the belly of the whale to end up where he was supposed to be?

Yea, that’s me.

And so, just shy of 7 years after this photo was taken, I’m hitting publish on a rough draft. There’s a baby who won’t nap pretty much anywhere other than on me strapped to my chest, and I’ll be picking up my daughter from school in roughly 30 minutes. Two dreams that were only dreams when this photo was taken. Coming home to a house that I haven’t cleaned because I chose to spend a morning painting with my little sisters. Ignoring the WordPress calculator telling me that my title isn’t scoring well enough for SEO and wondering if this is even grammatically correct.

Thanking God for his faithfulness that delayed obedience is still starting somewhere, and praising Him for cultivating this dream for all these years. And all the beautiful in between.