It is the last day of June. The year is half over, midpoint 2011. Time, perhaps, to take stock of the year so far. A midterm checkup, so to speak, before the last half of the year goes barreling on by. A review.

Stopping to reflect, to check in. To contemplate the time already spent. To refocus, reorient, reconsider all that had been planned at the beginning and where, at the half way, I am. So I remember, six months ago, the things I considered as goals for this (then) new year. To be nicer, healthier, to read the story in the Word, to be free from debt. Pretty standard stuff, really. Listable and checkable. Yep, doing okay here but oops, need to do a bit more work there.

I think I have been a little nicer. I’ve been conscious of it, anyway. Healthier? Well, I don’t know. It is up and down. Reading … I’m in Exodus. I love Exodus. I have a half-written post about Exodus. I’ve been distracted. Reading other things and not getting back to it. Inconsistent. (My husband slogged determinedly through Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy and now he is already into Second Kings. He’s having a ball. All the battles and beheadings and bloodshed. It’s better than Lord of the Rings, he says. There’s a lot of stuff in here they didn’t teach us in Sunday School, he says. They left out all the best parts, he says!) And the debt thing. We’re getting there!

But the one I didn’t voice. The goal, the desire, kept close to heart, of openness, courage, transparency. Of living life out loud, in the moment, and through Him. Of doing what He says to do, living like He says to live, and … writing it down. For anyone to see. This is why I journal it and post it and facebook it, fearfully each time. What will they think? How will it be interpreted? Is it too much? Will I look silly? Is it just vanity?

And this has been the hardest. To be honest, to truly share a life. My life. This life, my one life, placed in His hands and yet constantly wrenched back in fear. Given and reclaimed. His and mine. The struggle of giving it up to become it all. Much easier to commentate, to write anecdotally about other people and events. But to share what He is doing in me, or how I am so often messing it all up … that is more difficult.

I am preparing, with others, to begin a season of workshops with women on sharing stories. Encouraging women to tell their stories. Believing with all of my heart that it is through this sharing that we truly become the church, the people, the women, that God intended for us to be. Stories are glue. Through our stories we understand each other better, care about each other more, trust. Sharing your story is like having a friend into your home. The relationship changes. Deepens. Community is created. Church, real church, happens.

But how can I ask for your story if I do not consent to tell mine?

So, on entering the second half of the year I’ll recommit to the telling. The sharing. Because it is what He asks me to do. It is what He asks us all to do.