Since I was very young I have loved to write. I love words. And paper. Poems, stories, letters, most of which were never seen by another set of eyes. Perhaps writing is where God spoke to me then. It was where He stood by my side, whispered to my heart, and where I was kept alive, even before I even knew who He was.
Words came easy. They often poured out of me like projectile vomiting and were splashed onto paper before I could even form a proper sentence. Not the prettiest visual I know…but neither were the words that erupted from my soul telling messy stories.
Now in my middle age, ok, maybe older age, I look back and realize I have stacks of paper filled with the longings of a child of God, and they need life. They are more than sheets of yellowed lined paper that will turn to dust someday in a landfill. They need to be spoken. Today I am writing to give honor to those endless words that fell from my pencil like years of tears pouring down young cheeks. Writing to end silence and reconcile pain. Writing to share so another may relate. Writing to encourage you, the reader, and honor God, the Father. It is in this season I pray God will speak words into me, and they will pour out like glorious gold splashing onto this screen.
Do you have words bottled up in you longing to be free? Do you have a story that needs voicing? Sit with a blank canvas and see what picture emerges. Let the words come, and let it be told.
I'd love to hear your story.
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