I feel a nudge to be more visible. And if I'm being honest — that terrifies me.
All my life I have been a behind the scenes person. My parents raised us to be seen and not heard. Playing the background just became my norm. It was safe there. Comfortable. Nobody could see you clearly enough to judge what they found.
But lately something is shifting.
I feel full. Like I am about to overflow if I don't find a way to release what God has placed inside of me. I hear myself saying — order my steps, Lord. I don't want to go in any direction that you aren't leading. More and more I find myself wanting to sit at His feet. Not to ask for things. Just to get direction. To be still long enough to hear what He is saying before I open my mouth or take a step.
And what I keep hearing is this: use your voice. The real one. The personal one. The vulnerable one.
Expose the pieces of you that you'd like to keep hidden.
The Thing I Was Raised Not to Do
I was raised not to talk about the messy middle. Not to let people see the cracks. Keep it together. Hold it in. Don't air what doesn't need to be aired.
It was a form of protection, I think. If people couldn't see the cracks, they couldn't use them against you. If you never let anyone see you struggle, you never had to be vulnerable to what they might think.
So I learned to perform composure I didn't always have. I learned to show up polished even when I was coming undone. And for a long time, I was very good at it.
But here is what I've come to understand — slowly, reluctantly, and now with a certainty I cannot shake:
It's the cracks that God uses.
It is in our weakness that He is revealed. It is in the places we would most like to hide that His glory is most able to be made manifest. The pain we think disqualifies us is often the very thing that equips us. The scars we carry — the ones we've tried to cover and explain away and move past — God takes those and makes them beautiful.
"To bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of joy instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair." — Isaiah 61:3
That scripture is not theoretical for me. I have lived it.
What Life Has Produced
The years of my son's addiction. The season my marriage nearly didn't survive. The grief of watching my mother's health decline. The job loss. The moments that didn't feel survivable — not because they were dramatic but because they were relentless, one layered on top of another for years.
I did not just survive those seasons. God brought me through them to the other side. And the other side is not a perfect life. It is a better me. Better able to handle what comes. Better able to trust Him to bring me through. Better able to know that regardless of what happens — as long as I trust in Him — I cannot fail.
Lysa TerKeurst calls it transferable wisdom. And that is exactly what it is. Not something I learned in a classroom or read in a book. Something life produced in me. Something God took and made into something that could bless someone else — if I am willing to open my mouth and say it out loud.
And that is where the fear lives.
Because being visible means being seen. And being seen means people will see the cracks too — not just the beauty God made from them but the cracks themselves. The real story. The messy middle I was raised to keep private.
The Urge I Can't Ignore
I feel the urge to shout and be quiet all at the same time.
To wrap my arms around the woman who is hurting in ways she hasn't told anyone. To sit with the one who is conflicted and holding it together on the outside while quietly falling apart on the inside. To do the work God has for me — and to make sure every word is His before I speak it.
There are so many messages swirling around in me. Things I know could bless people. Things that have been forming in the fire of my own experience for years.
Life did not go the way I planned. But God has always had a plan. And His plan is always — always — better than anything I could have come up with on my own.
So I am leaning into the restlessness. I am sitting at His feet and asking Him to order my steps. I am saying yes to visibility even though it frightens me. I am choosing to believe that the cracks are not something to hide but something to offer.
Because someone out there needs to see them.
Someone needs to know that the messy middle is not the end of the story. That God does not require a perfect vessel — only a willing one. That what feels like your lowest moment may be the very thing He is preparing to use.
I haven't felt quite this way before. But I know the God who is stirring it. And that is enough.
I'm saying yes.
A Prayer
Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief. Take the things in me that I've been too afraid to offer — the scars, the cracks, the messy middle — and use them for Your glory. Order my steps. I don't want to move in any direction You aren't leading. Amen.
Reflect
What crack in your story has God been asking you to stop hiding? How might He be calling you to release it to Him — so He can use it?
— Raven Lee | Founder, Restored & Surrendered™