I am a writer.
Not because I am published or known by readers everywhere.
No, I am a writer simply because that is who I am.
I take what I feel & see and I translate it into words…and when I do this, somehow even in the midst of all I don’t understand, I find that I can be at peace with life. I have done this since I was a teenager, in various forms of journals, letters and blogs over the years. Poetry, songs, stories and confessions…the balance within my heart has always revolved around the words that poured out from my hands…whether it was read by an online group or just me & God, clarity was found when I stopped “doing” and just focused.
So you can imagine the damage done when I decided, not too long ago, to put away my pens and paper and stop translating life as I knew it.
I would love to say it was because it was just too hard. It was, but that wasn’t what did it.
I wish I could just push the blame off on someone or something…anything to make it seem like it was a direct result of some horrible injustice done to me. It was, but that wasn’t what did it.
I stopped writing because to write was to feel…and I didn’t want to feel because it hurt.
So I spent a very long time in silent mode. I sat and watched the dust gather on my journal…and with every layer, I felt myself fade just a little more. No longer taking in oxygen, I was trying to survive on gas fumes and was somehow convinced that I could do it. I mean, I guess I didn’t totally realize that I was suffocating…at least, not in a sense that I could see that I was doing just as much damage to myself as life was trying to. I knew that it hurt…no matter how I tried to pretend that I was still in control, e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. pulsed with an ache that screamed to be acknowledged…and instead of taking the time to deal with it, I turned my back to look for a different path to take.
No. That’s wrong. I didn’t look…I demanded one that didn’t require me to be accountable for my responses…one that didn’t require me to speak to God, who I was blaming for the intensity of it all anyway (yeah…different post, different day)…one that didn’t make me get up and out of the comfort zone I had created from within the chaos.
I stopped writitng…and I was dying as a result.
With every passing day, my connection built with God over the years and experiences lived became nothing more than pretty memories, like favorite novels on a shelf. Before long, I had an amazing library, filled with amazing books…but the moment came when I realized that I wasn’t content to own a magnificent collection of stories. It wasn’t enough to know the stories or to remember who I was…oh no! I
wanted needed to BE her again. I wanted it so badly that I would sit and cry, rocking back and forth with longing to just feel like I belonged in my own skin again. That girl in those books…oh, she had it together. I mean, she wasn’t perfect by long shot…haha, hardly…but loving God was easy for her simply because she did it by being who He made her to be.
Two weeks ago, I picked my journal back up.
I cracked the pages and started simply…song lyrics and doodles, mostly. But I did it – allowing my hands to play with the pen on the paper, knowing that eventually that girl would make her way down from the bookshelves. I knew that while I hadn’t given God much of who I was lately, He never forgot who He created…and I guess I began to believe in me again simply because I knew, somehow, that He still did.
He always does…and as angry as I had been, how is it possible to stay that way in the face of pure grace?? Mmmm…I suppose I made it longer than I should have, but no longer than He knew that I would…and at that sweet fact, I am blown away by love, perfected.
I don’t have it all together yet. In fact, I am still a little shaky on this whole “transparency” thing right now, finding it intensely scary to live in the light when I have chosen to make due in the shadows for so long now.
But I get up and dust myself off because I am not content with just being a reader of great novels in the library of my heart.
How can I be when I am not a reader? No, I am a writer.
…because that is who He made me to be and right now, that knowledge is enough to fill my soul with a gentle peace that promises that everything will be ok as long as I walk with the One who knows me best…and loves me most.
This song…an offering of my heart from where I am tonight. This post…just another step in getting up again.
Looking up, again…as always,