I wanted to wait and write when I had something profound to say; I decided against it because…
1. You might be waiting a long time to hear from me, and
2. Today marks my three year blogging anniversary.
My heart longs to mark this occasion with eloquent prose and promises for another year to come. Alas, prose and promises aren’t mine to give to you this day… only a few miscellaneous thoughts rambling through my brain.
I’ve written this post a least a dozen times in my mind… rehearsed it in the dark of night, searching for the right words to use, longing for the strength to write them. Still and yet, each time I entreat this blank screen, words fail me. They disappear as dawn approaches, and I grow increasingly frustrated by this new reality. Accordingly, I tried to make a video to express my thoughts; eight minutes into it, I gave up… just looked at the camera and said, “This isn’t working.”
And it isn’t… this working out of words through me, whether written or verbal. For this woman who’s had so very much to say over the past forty-four years, I have little to offer these days. At least it seems that way. I’m not a fan of my new, diminished capacity. It’s cruel torture for a soul that longs for exposure… for corporate connection with others. Words are often the catalyst to lead me there. When they are absent, isolation creeps in all around me, leaving me to work out this new irritation. Like a small piece of gravel trapped in a runner’s shoe, so is this bankruptcy of words. It prevents my stride, my focus, and my determination as it pertains to my running and living my race in a public venue.
I’ve thought about quitting at least a hundred times over the past few weeks… thought about shutting down the blog and turning in my writing pen. It seems an easy thing to do… to quit. Instinctively I know that should I choose that route, a week later I’d have something else to say with no place to say it, and that wouldn’t be easy for me. That would be a very hard thing for me, because deep down, I can’t help but be a collector of words. I can’t help my desire to write them, speak them, and give them to you as quickly as they are given to me. But therein lies the rub; the words aren’t coming as quickly these days. And while I’m well connected to my thoughts and ponderings, I’m less connected to the process of getting them all down on paper.
This pains me greatly, friends. Hurts me badly and taunts me viciously. Calls me less than and mocks the previous ruminations of my heart. The barren inkwell dares me to surrender the pen in search of a filler that will fill me like words have always filled me. And I am tempted to go there, to give in, and to call it a win. To mark my previously written words as enough… completed… the end of this chapter in my story.
But they tell me it’s just a season, and mostly, I believe them—those experts who’ve paved the road with previous understanding. This is, indeed, a time in my life like no other. I am fragile and worn, tired from a year’s worth of transitioning. Most of you have walked that transition with me—a ministry move, getting settled into a new community only to soon discover that cancer would claim my days and nights and every stop in between.
And now I’m here. Stuck. Hoping for more; most days settling for less, and my prayers are endless. At least with them, my words remain. My prayers have yet to disappear. Prayer has been my lifeline, my tethering to the Divine. To let them go is to lose hope altogether, and that is one place where I refuse my participation; my hand will remain on his hem, because with that grasping I know I’ll make it safely home.
I know this is heavy stuff, maybe even depressing to some of you. To that I would say, heavy has been my portion in recent days. But God has been my portion as well. He understands about heavy. His heart weighs with understanding, and he reminds me this day of our kinship—that, in fact, I am related to the Word. That he’s made his dwelling within me, and accordingly, there dwells his truth, his many words… his infinite history of bold revelation given generously to me because of my sacred bloodlines.
So while it doesn’t seem that I have much to say in this moment (even as I have tried to say over these past three years and some four hundred posts), I imagine that in days to come, I’ll have a few extra words to add to our ponderings. Why? Because the Word living in me cannot be chained or constrained by my inability to articulate him adequately. He’s just that big. He’s just that bold. He’s just that willing to use me, most days in spite of me. And because of who he IS… my heart is humbled, grateful for the gift of his abiding presence who promises to remain, despite the fading elements that surround my days.
Thank you for joining me on the road, friends. You are why I’m still here after three years, even when my written offerings are sparse in coming. I pray, as I have always prayed, that my writing focus remains consistent and on track with the purpose of knowing God more through his Word via my corresponding words. It’s not always easy to write about the things of God, but it certainly is always worth the digging.
How I pray for myself, even as I pray for you, a holy unearthing of the Divine in the year to come! As always…
Peace for the journey,
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