It took awhile, to write my thoughts. I was in elementary school, so the entries were short and unsure. Yet, I wrote.
I continued to write, with breaks here and there.
It was a way I could get all the mess out of my head. A way to process, a way to try to make sense of what seemed to be a stark contrast between my soul and the world around me.
I wrote to no one.
I wrote to my future great-grandchildren.
I wrote to God.
I wrote to anyone who would hear – yet with no intention of ever sharing.
Soon it became an urge. I had to write. It was a release, a way to open myself when I had no other way.
The page couldn’t tell me I was wrong, or stupid, or not good enough. It just received and witnessed and held the thoughts.
It became my prayer, my conversation with God. A conversation with the person God created me to be, but I didn’t know how to be.
Now, under our bed, is a box full of journals. Lately, every six months another book is added. (For a time in college I tried writing on the computer, but it wasn’t the same.)
Someday, my children or grandchildren will read them.
They will learn way more than they probably ever wanted to know, but they will also learn a bit of what it was to be me in the time and places I lived.
In my gut, in my heart, I see it as a gift to them, to my kids, their kids, and the kids after that. I pray that through reading my candid life, they will understand me, but most importantly, understand themselves.
Until recently, I only toyed with writing anything else. Nothing quite worked. I wasn’t ready. Then motherhood and a huge move forward in my spiritual life, opened the door. Suddenly I actually felt like I had something to say!
I’m still trying to find my voice, find my place. I pray that God will show me, that I can be open to the Spirit to guide my words.
I don’t know what will happen, if there is any purpose, but somehow, at times, the Spirit grabs onto me and I have to write.
Why write? Because God has left me no option not to. My relationship with God, with the world, with myself, is grounded in writing. Not surprising, when God grounded our relationship in the Word.
Lord, I open myself to learning the ropes of writing. To first opening myself to You, then to figure out the rest of how this all fits in this finite, mess of an amazing, grace filled, world. Amen.
(Note: The quilt was a wedding present made by my husband’s maternal grandmother.)