Whether we live in Africa, Asia, Australia, Europe or America, you and I, we are the same. We are all woven from the same fabric of life.
Whether home is a hut, a mansion, a bridge or a little farm in the middle of nowhere, you and I, we are the same. We have the same human blood flowing through our veins.
Whether we are poor, wealthy, single, married, divorced, abused, loved, childless, full of children, widowed, lonely or longing to be alone, you and I, we are the same.
As babies, we used our voices to let the world know we were hungry, wet, tired, happy, upset or sad. We used our voices to tell the world that we thought something was funny, difficult, easy, ridiculous. And it was very good.
As we grew, we added words to the sounds of our voices, and we used these words to think things through, express our opinions, discuss life and all of its ramifications. We used our words and peoples’ reactions to them to figure out many of life’s tough situations. We used our words to filter information and come up with our own set of values. And it was very good.
We became young adults, and used our voices to find friends to confide in. To grow friends to go through seasons of life with. And it was very good.
And then we grew up all the way, you and I. Or kind of.
But somewhere along the way, many of us were told that our voices did not matter as much as we thought. That we ought to be quiet. That we were just one voice, and how pretentious of us to think that our own little voice could make a difference. How much can one voice do?
And somewhere along the way, many of us began to believe the lie. And we got quieter somehow. Not silent altogether, but just not very verbal anymore. We kept our thoughts inside, where they were safe and protected. Where no one could rip them apart. Where no one could humiliate us with them.
But the quieter we grew, the more we withdrew.
And the more we withdrew, the less we thought we mattered.
And the less we thought we mattered, the more we accepted the unacceptable. All the way down to becoming convinced that our life didn’t matter. Doesn’t matter. Will never matter.
But God, He tells a different story. Because this voice of ours, it is His personal gift to us. That voice He gave to us, it’s perfectly fitted to us, like a glove for the hand that our heart is. It carries it around. It displays it beautifully.
This voice He gave to us, it’s life-sustaining. Life-producing.
And if we don’t let it breathe, this voice He gave to us, the world is missing out terribly. And if we keep it inside, this voice He gave to us, we are missing out terribly. And it’s just plain silly. And foolish. And absurd.
These abusers who have silenced us, we can’t let them prevail. It is not too late. Because your one voice, it can change a nation. One syllable a a time. And that’s just plain awesome. And marvelous. Empowering.
Cultivating Thankfulness with Ann Voskamp
#832 Impromptu gathering of good friends
#833 The peaceful fruit of repentance
Sometimes, I link up with any or all of these wonderful writers: Hearts 4 Home, SDG, Hearts Reflected, WLW, EOA, Things I can’t say, Growing Home, Play Dates with God, Monday Musings, Hear it on Sunday,Inspire Me Monday, Tell me a Story, The Better Mom, a Mama’s Story, Into the Word, In and Around Mondays,OYHT, Gratituesday,Titus2Tuesdays, Extraordinay, Lessons from Ivy, Denise in Bloom, Sweet Blessings, Faith Filled Friday, Finding Joy, WholeHearted Home, Mom’s the Word,