the past few weeks, i've been struggling for words.
and when i hit a dry season, when the words stop pouring and turn into barely a trickle,
my soul begins to feel as if it's shriveling. as if it can't eek out much of anything worth anything.
words are how i breathe, sometimes.
but all of this wishing hard for words has had me thinking of my motivations, my desires, and from where i draw my inspiration. and i'm beginning to notice that when i try to write from my own strength, when i try to force them out, the words don't come. they stay just beyond reach, resolute.
my heart tightens when i sit to write and nothing comes.
because i thrive when the words come. i feel alive--it's like feeling the wind on my face and the salt air whip around my body. like standing in the rain on a chilly spring day, letting each drop hit like a clean, new start. and it's not just when i'm actually writing, it's all the time in the day surrounding it.
i need words.
but even more, i need grace.
this life of mine has taught me over and again where i need to run to find my inspiration. where i need to sit and listen, and the grace to run to God for contentment. i am passionate about these words of mine, but if my motives are selfish, my well runs dry. when i seek satisfaction in seeing ink on the page or pixels on the screen, or even just in inspiring others, in connecting with like-minds, or just being read, that's when my words become self-serving, thin and dead.
instead, they flow when i am satisfied in him. when i have something worth sharing, to share.
when i am found in him, i am full of contentment.
and, words.
that's when i find my words. every time.
love.
