My heart is overflowing with a good theme; I write my composition concerning the King; My tongue is the pen of a ready writer. Psalm 45:1

All of the girls of the Awakening Track were asked a question…

Why are you on this earth?

I've never liked this question, mostly because I've never had an answer for it. Sure, I know, we all have a purpose. But for me it was such a cliche that it had no actual meaning. I really didn't know who I was created to be. So, I figured I would simply not answer and let the more confident girls answer, the ones with more clarity of vision, and louder voices.

The option to pass was, however, not offered, and as each girl began to speak identity and destiny over herself, power began to be released in the room. Whether she knew or simply wanted to believe, she spoke. Some were quiet, embarrassed to speak the words out loud, apologetic for dreaming about what she might, possibly, could be. Some cried as walls they had been hiding behind crumbled and exposed their beauty. Others spoke with shining eyes and radiant faces, secure in the knowledge of who they are and Who made them that way. And as they did, the rest of us agreed with the sneaking suspicion: we were all created for greatness.

The recording iPhone was passed around the large circle, getting closer to me. My heart began to burn and burst as thoughts, dreams, words and prayers were dropped into it. I was shaking. I could see moments of my life falling together like pieces of a puzzle.

Was I finally seeing? Was I finally understanding? Did I actually have a specific, God-given purpose?

Why am I on the earth?

I remembered I make pictures of people, not of what they look like but of who they are. That I've been told that I would speak identity over people, and prophesy the Father's heart over them with the pictures that I make of them.

I remembered visiting with a man in Israel and communicating for hours, hardly noticing we didn't speak each other's languages. I remembered that for hours as a child I would write all the stories in my head. Paper, ink, a desk with a candle burning at midnight - this made me come alive. I remembered times when insecurity would grip me so tight that it would literally choke my voice out of me, and I would make a fool of myself, stumbling on every word, saying something stupid, or sounding high and squeaky. I remembered wanting to say so much to people, and not being able to find the words, so I would simply hug them, and they would tell me they understood. I remembered the first day of my preaching and teaching class in school this quarter, being let talk beyond my time limit because my teacher was almost moved to tears by my story.

I remembered in my DTS having probably one the worst nightmares I've ever had. Sparing you the details, my voice was stolen and I couldn't scream.

But I realised that even if that nightmare came true, if my voice was literally taken out of my mouth, it wouldn't matter. Because I have been given many voices, and I speak many languages.

I am a communicator.

What this means exactly is still unfolding as we speak. Opportunities to communicate are cooking in their little ovens and may come out as open doors, but we will see. All I know is that I am excited for my future. I have clarity for what I want, what I am working towards, who I am living for, and who He created me to be.

When I know more… I'll let you know.


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