thought-full things | #2

(little thoughts from texts, tweets and other things)

We don't need to find our voice in this

What is your story? You have one, you know. Maybe it’s a story of falling and rising. Or maybe it’s a story of being kept from stumbling. You are pages upon pages of life just waiting to be read by someone who desperately needs to know they aren’t alone in the life they’re living.

You don’t need to find your voice. You are a voice. And that voice is so very beautiful.

Speak now. I’m listening. I want to hear your voice. Please share your story.

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About Ronne Rock

Ronne Rock’s heart finds its strongest beat where beauty and pain collide – because hope always finds us in the shattered places. There’s more than 30 years of marketing and communications experience in her bones, and she finds great joy in sharing leadership wisdom as a regular contributor to Orange Leaders and QARA. But more often than not these days, she's with the vulnerable in difficult places around the world, gathering stories that change stories. Find Ronne's words in "For You, Love" the prayer journal that invites you to respond, and in Everbloom, a collection of stories from the Redbud Writers Guild. She is currently writing, "Building Eden: Principles of a Grace-Filled Leadership that Restores and Redeems." 

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8 thoughts on “thought-full things | #2”

  1. The parts of my life seem like separate stories lived by different people. It’s interesting to think of how different I was in each of the phases of my life and yet it all combines to make me the person I am today.

  2. I wore labels like scarlet letters. I was the girl who would do anything for the affections of a man. I was an addict. I was clambering through shelves hungry for a fix, another pill to snort. I was suicidal. Badges designed by razor blades, to remind myself to never feel that way again. Times when life was too heavy. Pressing in on my chest. Making it impossible to breathe. And time after time I pushed too far, hoping to speed myself to the next life. I was confused. Rejecting identity. Doing anything to shock or facilitate new thrills.

    Now. Now I breathe in deeply. Now I exhale light and joy. I am free and out to help those also caught in their bondage find freedom.

  3. Seeking. That’s my story. For as long as I’ve drawn breath, I’ve been seeking. People: Friends. Mentors. Companions. A mate. Ideas: Truth. Secrets. Answers. Solutions. Purpose.

    Some things I’ve found. My story became interwoven with another’s. She became a friend, companion, and mate. A wife. A mother. She became more than I realized I needed. Yet I was still seeking.

    I found life and truth wrapped in the arms of a savior that I had never believed in. In fact, I had fought Him. I had run from Him. But He found me. He redeemed me. I never even knew I was dead until He gave me new life.

    Some things stay elusive. Purpose. Mentors. The secret to waking up content with life every day.

    I continue to seek. The journey doesn’t end. It’s filled with obstacles… pain, failure, hurt, darkness, and loss… but it’s also filled with light…friends, travel, sunsets, adventures, rescue, redemption, and the Milky Way.

    My life isn’t a story of a fall and a rise. It’s not a tragedy followed by a triumph. It’s a messy, mistake-filled adventure of perpetual peaks and valleys. Lately I’ve changed my perspective, though. Life is no longer about enduring darkness while awaiting the upcoming joy. Instead it’s an adventure. The best views are found after climbing the steepest mountains.

  4. I kept lists. Lists of sins committed. Folded intricately, tucked away, hidden lists. I would find them, add to them, rewrite them. They were my unholy barrier between me and Christ. It started when I received my first reconciliation. My religious education teacher said that it might be helpful to keep a list of sins so we would remember to tell the priest each one at confession. It started then, and grew and grew until it became a compulsion. It never even occurred to me to keep a list of LOVE, of wins, of hopes.

    The week after I called Christ mine, a godly friend discovered one of my lists. She tore apart my room until every last one was uncovered. I was ashamed. More than ashamed, yet angry and resentful that she would try to take away something so cherished. How sick is that! I called Christ mine, yet I cherished these lists.

    She stuffed them in her pockets and left without saying much. She cried quietly and I didn’t see her for over two weeks.

    She intercepted me on a Tuesday afternoon while I was on my way to a rehearsal. She asked me to get in her car so we could talk. By then, I was way past talking. I wanted to yell and curse and accuse. We were silent for the short drive. The car stopped at an area where we would trail run together and she asked me to follow her on the trail. More curious than angry, I followed her down the winding trail for about a half an hour. We veered off and continued about ten minutes hiking through thick brush (me in flip flops). We stopped at a tree. Laid out on a blanket was a hammer, nails and all of my letters.

    “I never read any, they are yours, not mine. Release this to Jesus, Laura.”

    She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket and handed it to me.

    “I waited too long to share Jesus with my friend Laura. I waited too long to tell her that You loves her. I waited too long to tell her that she is precious in Your sight. I waited to long to tell her about the Freedom you offer. I waited too long to tell Laura that her debt was been paid.”

    She gently took her confession and nailed it to the tree.

    What happened next was intimate and wonderful and I lack the words to adequately describe what happened in my heart.

    I treasure my friend for that day. There haven’t been and there will never be a list again.

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