I Thought I Had Lost It All

I Thought I Had Lost It All

I'm relaunching my blog, and only because of God’s grace and my brother’s technology savvy is there anything to show for my past seven years of writing. 

In July, as I transferred my site from one place to another (all behind the scenes – you weren’t even supposed to notice a thing), my photos and old posts from the past seven years disappeared. 

I thought I had lost it all. 

In the midst of this confusion and fear, I wrote the following entry. While the photos and posts have been found, these words I penned are still worth sharing due to the lesson learned from this stripping away. 

My posts have been recovered, but my heart remains changed.


I lie awake in fear. All I once (thought I) had is counted loss.

I believed I could change a few things on my blog and no one would notice as they surfed to my page.

In reality, I'm only as smart as my most recent YouTube tutorial. And apparently, that makes me deficient in what I just tried to do.

I don't lie awake because 500+ journal-type entries are potentially lost.

I don't lie awake because photos from the past seven years of my life are now hidden in folders deep in the chaos of my computer — as opposed to searchable on a corner of the internet I believed I owned.

I don't lie awake because the very nice lady from the IT department had the audacity to suggest I manually piece together the past seven years of my life as if it were that easy. “In your extra time,” she said.

I don't lie awake because of all I believe I've lost. 

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I lie awake because of all I've sworn I need: Oh, I don't need anything, Lord. I only need you.

I don't need recognition or value or status. I'll wash the feet, just like you.

I am not my works or my words, Christ. My definition is actually a copy-and-paste of yours. I'm found in you.

Except I'm not. Otherwise, I wouldn't be lying here, awake, wondering if I just deleted more than 500 blog posts.

Maybe you're not all I need.

My stomach hurts and my two-in-the-morning eyes are peeled open because without my words and without my stats and without my journal entries and pictures and memories and guest posts and social media shares, who am I?

Lord, I need you (and all I've worked for here on earth, obviously). Every hour I need you (and all that I've accomplished; don't you dare take that away).

My deficiencies as a website designer and my mistakes in exporting and saving are illuminating the lies I've been proclaiming to my Savior and my God.

Losing seven years of hard work puts me closer to being poor in spirit than I ever have been.

God called the punk rich brat and me to both leave it all behind and follow him.

But I’m not sure I want to.


In just a few weeks of thinking I had lost it all, I learned valuable lessons:

Who I am was not fully represented by posts of 500-750 words and a few well-framed photos.

Who I am is a daughter depending on her Father to put the pieces of brokenness, failed adoptions, infertility, loss, heartache, church hurt, special needs parenting, and pride back together into a puzzle that creates a whole. A whole Ginger Newingham — not just a whole webpage or social media personality.

Who I am is an inadequate girl planning to share exactly how God can still love such a mess.

I'm planning to allow the Conductor to lead my orchestra as I share more of my heart for living intentionally in a world that seems to be spinning too fast.

I'm planning to continue growing and developing publicly, not in order to define who I am this time, but because we are better together, Church.


Join me as I relaunch Our Moments Defined and truly determine the defining moments of a life lived intentionally — starting with my own.

 

State of the Blog Address

State of the Blog Address

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