It’s time to pick up our mats.

When I heard God’s first whisper ten years ago, like a faint image disappearing out of the corner of my eye, it seemed to be gone as soon as I turned.

There was too much noise in my life to hear Him.

Shhh. What was that you said? 

“I want you to write.”

Really? 

Wait, really? 

No, you couldn’t have said that! 

I had every reason to believe that I had heard Him wrong. My excuses justified me well. Since English was not my first language, stringing words together with ease was a daunting challenge. Don’t even get me started on my grammar and spelling. I could’ve probably counted on one hand how many books I’d read in the previous years. I had never learned how to type. God’s directive made no sense to me. I was having a really hard time trusting in what I thought I had heard. 

Two days later, I was driving alone and turned on the radio. As one who loves silence and rarely listens to music, this was an unusual move for me. A song by Nicole Britt, “Walk on Water,” began to play. When I heard her words, my throat tightened up, and my eyes began to sting. Suddenly, God’s voice had gotten a lot louder.

In her song, Nicole sings about waves of doubt, fear of being overtaken when stepping into the unknown, and insecurities taking over us. She encourages us to move in faith because Jesus won’t let us go. You (and I) can walk on water.

“I want you to write.”

But— 

“Go home. Play that song again. 

Start writing. You can walk on water, too.”

Blogging was in its heyday, so with my new command in hand, I joined the bandwagon and gave this writing thing a whirl. Looking back, it seems obvious that the humble beginnings of my blog were doomed for failure. As an infant writer, I had no idea what I was doing.To make matters worse, my blog had no purpose or vision. I spent a lot of time reading other blogs and mimicking what they were doing. I naively thought that just by pressing publish I would somehow earn an audience. But the real and biggest problem was that my blog was ultimately serving me and my ego, instead of blessing and serving my readers. I had a lot of growing up to do.

Even though the thought of my first blog makes me cringe, I am so thankful that I had just enough faith to take that first step of obedience. As I began to put my thoughts into words, as rudimentary as they were, I noticed that the more I wrote, the more I fell in love with writing. 

A few months before this crazy calling, I had experienced an emotional breakdown of sorts that landed me on the proverbial couch of a counselor’s office and taking antidepressants. I was in the process of healing already, but writing became instrumental in helping me in my healing journey. Writing became a space that forced me to think through topics I would have otherwise abandoned. Writing also allowed me to bring order to my jumbled thoughts. It grounded me and brought me great peace and joy. I came to the conclusion that God must have meant for me to write so that I could experience the benefits that I was enjoying. 

For the next seven years, my words and I played a game of cat and mouse. They came to me in shifts. After sorting through them I would feel spent, oftentimes ashamed, but at times also satisfied and fulfilled. Ideas came and went. Back then I was an avid runner. Often when I was out for a run, my words flowed so fast that if I were writing them down, my hand would not have been able to keep up. Once I reached home, however, it seemed that the breeze had carried my words away. Perhaps some spilled on the ground. Others got stuck to the trees or caught in the early morning cobwebs. Although losing my thoughts constantly frustrated me, those creative times were my favorites. Writing, even if just in my head, made me feel alive. 

Some of my words found their way back to me. I embraced them, played with them, and beginning in 2016 I dared to start publishing them again. When I decided to make my words public, I recruited someone to help me polish them. My good friend and editor, Hayley, has been a godsend. With her help, encouragement, and talent, I took advantage of my spurts of dedication and faith. With each new blog post, my true voice began to show up. Little by little, I have been able to better serve through communicating my thoughts and prayers to you, my dear reader. 

But still, even now, haunted with insecurity and lack of faith, I make excuses and evade the dedication required for my calling. The enemy keeps convincing me that my words lack excellence and value. I often want to give up, but that first whisper keeps echoing in my soul. I scratch the calling every now and again to make the itch go away. 

That whisper won’t let go of me. 

Way back during my first blogging days, I wrote about a miracle found in John 5. It spoke to me deeply. It still does. I have known for years that I needed to rewrite it. It kept haunting me, but I kept avoiding it. I knew then and I know now, that there is still something that I need to do. 

Come with me to the pool at Bethesda. I, like the man in this story, have been sitting for ten years waiting for the waters to stir. But Jesus passes by and asks me a curious question. Perhaps he is asking you the same one. 

***

Now there is in Jerusalem near the Sheep Gate a pool, which in Aramaic is called Bethesda and which is surrounded by five covered colonnades. Here a great number of disabled people used to lie—the blind, the lame, the paralyzed. One who was there had been an invalid for thirty-eight years.  When Jesus saw him lying there and learned that he had been in this condition for a long time, he asked him, “Do you want to get well?”

  “Sir,” the invalid replied, “I have no one to help me into the pool when the water is stirred. While I am trying to get in, someone else goes down ahead of me.”

  Then Jesus said to him, “Get up! Pick up your mat and walk.” At once the man was cured; he picked up his mat and walked. (John 5:3-9)

***

Maybe you entertain thoughts like: my life would be more complete if such and such; if this circumstance in my life changed I would be much happier and more efficient; I could serve God better; I would be a better me.  Often thoughts like these leave us in a paralyzing holding pattern. They have me. And I believe this man had been entertaining some of the same kinds of thoughts for a very long time. 

But then Jesus passed by. He noticed him and asked, “Do you want to get well?”

This story isn’t just about an ill man that Jesus heals. This story is about me; this story may be about you. And dear friends, Jesus is on to us.

Perhaps I’m not the only one who has been sitting by the pool for years. Are you, too, in a paralyzed state? What led you there?

Maybe you are sitting in the aftermath of a broken relationship, a troubled childhood, or a devastating loss that you feel like you will never get over; or perhaps you have experienced a failure in life that you can’t let go of, or an emotional thorn that won’t go away. Are you feeling called to ministry, adoption, a new career, a bold move to walk into your own calling?

We all have a story. We can be left there in our story, for ten years like me, or thirty-eight years like this man, feeling at a loss, completely impaired, or devastated. Sometimes life seems hopeless and lonely, and although we lie in hope of a miracle, we seem unaware of the fact that Jesus sees us. We are so wrapped up in our pitiful selves that we don’t even realize that he is, indeed, asking us this very same question.

“Do you want to get well?”

Trouble is, even though we think it is a crazy—rhetorical at best—question, it actually is a very legitimate one. 

In this story, we don’t know how old this man actually is. We do know, however, that he has been there, in the same spot, every day, for the past thirty-eight years! Once he is healed, his life will never be the same. He will no longer be the man waiting at the waters. What will he do now? Does he understand the implications of what will happen when it is no longer just him and his mat? Does he understand that he will have to go, put one foot in front of the other and make new decisions, breathe a different life, and do something new with his time? His life will now be consumed with new thoughts and new actions. He will never be the same.

Year after year, each time I returned to edit this piece about John 5, I was confronted with this question. I had to consider what it would look like for me to pick up my mat and walk, what being well meant to me. How would it change my life? And am I truly ready for that kind of change?  

As I began to consider my answers, I realized time and time again that staying by the waters with my mat was the most comfortable and safest place to be. I didn’t want to consider the alternative of watching my writing hopes come to life. The risk was too scary. What if I ran out of ideas and words? Or worse, what if they were ignored or rejected? I wasn’t sure if wellness was worth getting up for. On the mat, I have the freedom to blame others for my failures. If I get up, I would be out of excuses. I would no longer be the “Invalid at the Pool” that just sits and waits, I would now be the healed woman that could walk! 

My heart sank when I realized that Jesus’ question wasn’t so crazy after all.

“Do you want to get well?”

It’s quite fascinating that this man never actually answers Jesus. He immediately begins to give him excuses and tries to justify himself for not being well already, as if it was up to him.

No one is here for me.

I’m waiting for “something” to happen.

I’m trying but others get in my way.

These are the same answers we give. We think deep inside that we are ill-prepared for what may lie ahead of us if we are well. So we make the same excuses. 

I’m so alone.

If only “this” were gone, I would be able to move forward.

I keep getting interrupted.

Dear one, Jesus sees you. He sees me. He knows we need to be well. He’s heard how long we have been there. He has not passed us by. He has not overlooked us. What we don’t realize is that He has given us the power to walk. The healing is done by Him; the change happens through Him. It is time to stop giving excuses. We do, however, need to have just enough faith to pick up the mat and take that first step.

The wholeness that this man would experience once he picked up his mat is the wholeness that we all want to experience when we trust that Jesus has seen us too. How will you answer him when he asks you if you want to be well?

Do you?

For ten years, I have waited by the pool. I have despaired in the loneliness of naming and owning the writer’s life. I have allowed all the interruptions and the “better writers” to “get in my way.” But the first whisper will not go away. The question keeps haunting me.

“DO you want to get well?”

 It is time to pick up my mat. I have some walking to do.  

Will you, too, pick up your mat and walk?