So, I’ve stopped writing. Much to the chagrin of former journalism professors, old fans, and many family members, I’ve just…stopped. I still work in communications, so, when deadlines arise, I sit down with my trusty li’l iPad and I spit out something. Usually, I turn it in with the thought, “Really? That’s all you’ve got? You’re a published author and a Journalism graduate. You’re barely scratching the surface here. You can do better than this!”
And somehow, despite my angst, God still makes my writing impactful. I just really don’t understand how He does such a thing. I still know how to write. I’ve just forgotten how to write for myself. (Hence the reason this blog hasn’t been touched in two months.)
Let me explain. My parents handed me an old laptop when I was fourteen and told me to write. My life had been so packed with medical trials, traumas, and troubles, they just wanted me to have an outlet. Without actually knowing what I was doing, I set out to make my pain make sense, and I took advantage of that outlet.
I needed to find God when my body gave me reasons to believe God was dead. So, I let my pain infiltrate page, after page, after page of defining Jesus within my very lonely and hurting heart.
I found my talent within writing. Writing somehow made my pain beautiful. Writing gave me a way to understand that a traumatic and painful life didn’t erase God. Writing helped me see that pain simply chips away at religious pretenses and makes you feel every inch of your desire to follow an invisible God.
But now, almost a decade and a half later, my life is not run by pain or medical trauma. By now, I’ve told all my stories, I’ve cried all my tears, and truly, my heart is filled with joy. I love it! … I just don’t know how to write about it, or write within it. I’m at a total peace for the first time since I can remember, and all the sudden, my need to write has disappeared.
The funny part is, God has made it clear I’m not done writing. It’s just I no longer have to write for myself. In other words, a blank page doesn’t give me anxiety. It’s just a reality. When God wants me to start writing, the fire in my bones comes back and nothing can hold me back. I’m okay with that.
Now my journey is learning how to let my talent include joy.