I need to write again.
I need to bleed a bit of myself out on paper with the stroke of a pen.
It helps me be real.
It reminds me of who I am in the throws of all I am doing.
It aids in confronting the rooms in me that I've closed the doors on because I'm so full, so busy, too busy to remember. I need the reminder to revisit those rooms; a reminder that quiet stillness and solitude in His presence knits us more together, He and I.
Writing also tells me I have something to offer; a burnt offering, an intentional sacrifice of pride in the face of transparency. And more, to be a conduit of His Truth-words to others, and conduit of creativity growing within me from the Master Creator.
Writing real life; making ugly sonnets that pour worship out of the mundane.
These moments I walk through that God means for me to not keep silent on, but pass along.
I want to write my stories so that you feel as though you could have written them yourself.
^This; the art of solidarity.
Solidarity: a unity or fellowship arising from a sense of commonality.
"It doesn't matter if you're rich or poor or black or white or right or left or young or old--
if you have the same disease as someone else or if you both have a daughter with an eating disorder or have a brother in jail or had a spouse die or recently were fired...
You have a bond that transcends whatever differences you may have.
That's what suffering does."
Rob Bell on the art of solidarity, Drops Like Stars
Suffering draws out honesty in us, encouraging us to either eliminate the unimportant and drive ahead full, or if we allow it, can drop like a self-loathing heap of discouragement on our heads causing us to stagnate. With every situation of suffering we have the opportunity to become bitter or better, closed or open, ignorant or aware. Suffering shapes us.
This time of quiet has been exactly what the Good Doctor, my Great Physician ordered.
Now it's time to come back, but not at all like before.
This time in balance.
Life is different, and I have more to stand on and draw from.
I confess in the past to --
- competing with other mom bloggers
- coveting their level of attention or outreach
- requiring of myself certain standards of "successful" bloggers that were not laid on my heart by the Lord
- writing to keep site traffic numbers up instead of when I felt led of the Spirit
- allowing politics and weighted opinions to interfere when that is not what this blog was ever supposed to be about
- writing to get a pat on the back, to attempt worth apart from Jesus
- spending way too much time on the computer and causing my family and my home to suffer from my lack of discipline in time management
I've composed a new statement of purpose.
Not something outrageous to live up to, but rather a grace-filled purpose for being here -- one I can comfortably cuddle up in, like my daddy's old recliner, without my own worth or merit.