words exposed.

fill the paper with the breathings of your heart {william wordsworth} your words are in my heart like a fire, a fire set up in my bones. i am weary of holding them in, indeed - i cannot! {jeremiah 20:9}

sometimes when i feel the words i don't want to write them.

i want to stuff them deeper, unexposed.

it's hard to reveal darkness when you've spent your life covering the hard spaces.

so what does a writer do when she finds herself sitting in the chaos of a life exploded? for awhile, i thought it was just breathe deep and continue on, empty handed. but now i know the pen is a weapon of healing.

watching ink splatter onto my journal i feel a release. this space has been quiet lately, and mostly it's because i've been avoiding the sound of my fingers hitting the keys. usually this results in a humbling display of irrationality.

last night, as i fell asleep and woke with a start an hour later all anxious and itchy-palmed and close to tears, i knew i'd need to wrestle through the thoughts and fears. and even now, forty minutes into me opening up a blank space to write, i feel the stuffing.

so here's the truth: i don't know where i am other than in His hand. two years ago, i would have said this with a smile and now i whisper it as a question. i know i'm growing. i know He's revealing Himself to me through moments of protection. and i get all weepy when people start talking about grace because goodness how amazing. but honestly? {and i realized this last night while talking with friends}

i don't want grace for everyone.

and so perhaps i'm wrestling through some bitterness. or maybe i'm finally coming to terms that a messy faith is the the most real. i know the beauty of second chances but really? for everyone? is there any hope in knowing i'll stand side-by-side with ones who have wounded me deeply? i fight the urge to point fingers and scream and pitch a royal fit because it's just not fair. 

which, might i add, is the beauty of the gospel.

and maybe this is where i find myself: that moment where you look around bright eyed because suddenly your faith becomes real and yours and the questions are valid and celebrated because who wants a robot living and breathing and following them?

whatever it is, my shaky legs keep moving me forward and the words stuck in my heart from long ago are begging for some attention. and just like the prophet jeremiah, my bones are growing hot with the realization that it's only a matter of time before these words find the light of day.

 

writing with emily at imperfect prose today....join us?

Posted on November 30, 2011 .