Finding My Voice

I apologize for the hiatus from blogging. (I'm sure you were waiting with bated breath for my next post, weren't you? No? OK, then.)

Frankly, I think I set myself up for failure with my grandiose idea of blogging about "finding God in my life and parenting."

Because God is omnipresent, so I don't have to really find the Almighty, y'know?

Because I am a random person and the thought of having to make my posts fit into specific parameters is kinda soul-sucking. (And boring. Which makes me rather unenthusiastic about writing.)

Because my life is crazy and fun and messy and sometimes hair-pullingly frustrating and trying to make it into something serious and/or inspirational is not working for me.

And finally, because I am still trying to find my voice. I still (in my mid-thirties) am discovering who I am. Maybe you can relate?

See, I grew up in Fundamentalist Christianity. I had no voice. As a child, I was ruled by adults who mostly loved me, but believed they were my "God-given authority" to dictate who I was to be.

I went to a Fundamentalist university, where (again) I was under the authority of "God-given leadership" who dictated how I dressed, where I went, and what I did.

I married and attended Fundamentalist churches. I was under the authority of my husband, and gracious, loving submission (code for subservience) was the litmus test of how good a wife I was.

Perhaps (un)surprisingly, I carry some baggage from that. I find it extremely difficult to speak up appropriately. I sound as if I'm making a suggestion, or else I come across as rude and demanding. Finding my voice will require the practice of actually using it.

Also, my writing style wasn't true to me. I was taught very well how to write in a semi-formal style, so others would take me and my words seriously. There is nothing wrong with writing that way, but this is a blog, for cryin' out loud.

My blog.

My words.

My voice.

I have gone from being voiceless to trying to imitate others' voices. I've learned I'm no prophetic Sarah Bessey, nor warrior-poet Preston Yancey, nor exhorter Rachel Held Evans, nor truth-proclaimer Elizabeth Esther.

I'm me. My purpose, my voice, my calling is different.

I empathize. I encourage.

I scatter sunshine like fairy dust to life's dark corners. I breathe hope into the gloomy dungeons of desolation. I buttress wavering faith and weave gold threads into the damaged tapestries of relationship.

How that works as a blog? I have no clue. None.

But that's ok. I promise -to you, my readers and to myself- that I will use my voice, follow my calling from now on.

I hope you enjoy reading the real me.


Sincerely,

Korrine Britton