danielle axelrod

Dear Reader,

It has taken me approximately 106 days to finally, and formally, say hello. And for that, I apologize (Not that you were waiting on me, or have been, in any way, shape, or form, acutely aware that you might have been waiting on me…). I mean, perhaps I should’ve had a few blogs lined up before I announced a relaunch of my website, but you live and you learn, okay?

Anyway.

While my intention for the relaunch was to recreate my blog so that it became a creative and genuinely fun space for me to creatively express the words God speaks, I honestly spent most of the past 106 days in a vicious cycle of writing, deleting, writing, deleting, yelling, crying, questioning, panicking, and writing just to delete again.

And so finally, I had had enough. I was frustrated. I was out of ideas. I was beginning to dread one of the things I loved most. And I wanted to know why. 

So I opened my journal.

When I look back on my journals over the years, I find some of the most beautiful revelations that God gave me between lines of penned questions, raw honesty, and messy processing. Each page was full of entries that were never intended to cohesively or perfectly explain exactly what was happening to me, but rather a messy and chaotic plea for my Heavenly Father to process with me.

That space is where some of my best writing happens because I am not trying to be perfect. I am not held back by the fear that someone will read the words and judge my ability, theology, or intent.

I am not trying to impress anyone or attempt to make a polished argument. I am not trying at all, really. I’m just writing – my pen an invitation for God to meet me in the scribbles of raw honesty and vulnerability rather than a tool to prove my limited understanding to Him.

And isn’t it funny that my understanding has grown most within those chaotic, unpolished spaces? That the place where I stopped trying to get it right and instead allowed myself to authentically and freely write became the place where God helped me see it right?

Say that 10x fast.

Anyway, 106 days later, this is where you, dear reader, finally come in.

Because it was in this revelation between the lines of my journals that God showed me why I was frustrated and seemingly at a dead-end time and time again. And you are part of that reason. Incoming photo of said revelation below, and the paragraph that essentially gave me the kick in the butt I needed to finally write these words:

Sorry for the chicken scratch. But here’s the simple summary:

I realized that I was trying, for 106 days, to be God FOR you, instead of simply creating space for God to reveal Himself TO you. I was so worried about articulating His words perfectly to you that I neglected to leave room for Him to speak something personal to you. 

And while I obviously do not think I actually am God, this notion that I must perfectly and clearly help you all see EXACTLY what God wants to show each one of you suggests that I actually have the ability to do what only God Himself can do. 

So of course, when I fall short, I am stifled by this ridiculous idea that God is mad or disappointed or waiting for me to get it right in order to speak something to you. 

Seriously, ridiculous – right? But essentially, isn’t that what’s happening here? Isn’t my delay in releasing these words due to fear and anxiety of falling short for you implying that my faith is not in God but in my own human ability?

And, light bulb.

I am beginning to realize just how often I am subconsciously trying to be God instead of simply being with God. And that suffocating pressure of trying to be perfect and trying to fix everything and trying to reveal divine wisdom to you in perfect and poetic form is truly paralyzing – almost like I’m stuck to the wall of that awful Gravitron ride at the county fair that never fails to leave you with a nauseating headache. Do you remember that thing? Terrible. 

And the people who started crawling all around like a salamander of sorts while it spun round and round and round really freaked me out the most…Gosh, I’m nauseous just thinking of its memory.

Anyway, I’m done letting fear, pride, and performance anxiety keep me from writing to you. Not at you. But to you. Because maybe, if I can give you an authentic glimpse into my own messy processing and the revelations God gives me there, it might encourage you to invite Him in to your messy places, too.

This blog will be messy. It will be unpolished, but it will be real. And while each entry may be eerily similar to a duplicate of the inside of my chaotic, little mind that may just make you shake your head and bump me up to #1 on your prayer list, I pray they will also offer you a tangible blueprint of how to invite Jesus into the most raw and honest spaces of your heart. 

And I pray that the experiences I share might provide comfort to someone who needs to know they’re not the only one, fresh air for someone who may feel like they’re suffocating too, and renewed hope for someone who needs to know healing is possible for them, too.

So, dear reader, it’s been 106 days of frustration, but I’m deciding today that the count stops there. I can finally take a deep breath and publish these words to you void of pressure (well, I am just a little nervous still, ok? I mean, I am human after all. And we’re working on it…). 

But I can finally exhale, releasing 106 days of self-induced and prideful pressure. Because my reason for finally sharing these words has become greater than my excuse to keep them hidden:

And the reason is you. (Shoutout Hoobastank)

I really believe that God wants to speak to you – each one of you – in more personal ways than you can imagine. But it’s no longer my job to do that for you. Rather, it’s my delight to share that space with you. 

And boy, is that freeing. 

Exhale. My shoulders are already thankful.

So, dear reader, I hope you remember this: 

We were never meant to be God for anyone else. We were created to glorify God with lives that point everyone else to Him.

So, if, like me, you’ve been carrying the weight of trying to get it all right all of the time, let me invite you to exhale and hand it over to the One who was supposed to be carrying it this entire time. You’re welcome.

And truthfully, it might feel scary to do that. It might feel overwhelming and exhausting and terrifying and horribly uncomfortable to release control. But I promise you, there is beautiful freedom when you let go and create space for God to take back what was always His.

Exhale. There are greater things on the other side of our yes laced in imperfection that we may never see if we keep saying no due to the fear of imperfection.

♡ Sincerely,

This Dear Writer