I have a lot of people close to me who’ve been crossing their fingers for the day that I might write again. And here we are, I’m writing again.
To be honest, it’s been strange after all these years, but it’s nice I think. And its healing — that’s certain.
I’m sure God will have me share more at some point, as per usual (…could be a week or a month from now, or tomorrow, who knows? I’ll jump off that cliff like every other one, when He asks me to.)
But for now, it feels healing to break myself open again. To stop steeling myself behind silence or smiles on social media, and to stop running from the stories I hate so much (the nonsensical stories, that let’s be clear, God is the one writing — and that are too many to count.)
And to choose instead, to own my most incapacitating heartaches and questions, & sift through the muck in order to find the meaning in them. Even more, to * find Him * in them.
I don’t know where this will take me, or how long I’ll write in this season before the next time I quit lol. I’m not even sure if anyone will read along (…do people even read blogs anymore? Or is everyone too busy watching TikTok’s & the news?) I also still very much can’t figure out where to put a mechanically-sound comma.
But I need to write again because I need to find Him again. (God has been hidden & quiet for so long.)
And I need to write because I need to find myself again.
…Because she’s been hidden and quiet for so long as well…