For a while now, I've been having a hard time writing with joy.
Not in the way you would think. I'm still and always will be super psyched to get my words down. To one day see them in print. I can write as enthusiastically as ever. I can type each word, each sentence, each page, and I can still feel the excitement reverberating beneath my fingertips as they pound away at the keyboard. I want to write this story. I want to see it through. I want to continue being inspired, and I am.
But underneath it all, I've been inexplicably sad. I may smile because I've gotten a sentence to come out just right. I may laugh to myself at an amusing bit of dialogue.
But underneath something has been hurting. And I don't know what.
A lot has been happening in my life lately. Some for the better.
More, for the worst.
I don't understand what God wants from me. I'm trying to still keep up with my writing, because I know that's what He wants me to do. I try to act happy, I try to work hard. I try to read, to draw, to concentrate on my school, but always, always, I find myself once again sitting in front of a blank page, waiting for the words to come, letting the emptiness swallow me up.
I've gotten a lot of writing done lately. Really good stuff actually to. Great stuff. Some of the best I've written.
But I don't feel like I am the words anymore. I feel like the empty sheet of paper beyond underneath the ink stains. The ink stains are comforting, but they do nothing to soothe me. I still feel empty and I can't find joy in their existence upon me. I'm just blank. I don't want to think about anything. I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to speak or move or breathe.
I just want to be.
I don't want to try to write, even though my heart begs me to. I don't know what's wrong with me.
I wish I could fix everything.
I wish I could make it better.
I wish I knew what God wants from me.
I wish I knew Why.
I know it will all work out in the end.
But what do I do until then?
I trust God completely with my current situation. I know he has a plan and this is happening for a reason.
But something within me feels wrong. I can't explain why I am sad. I can, it's because of what's happening.
I can't. Because I know God will heal and I'm not afraid of what's happening.
I torn between both worlds, but I still feel like I'm okay, because God is with me.
But I'm not okay.
I can write, but there's no joy behind the writing.
I can speak, but it's as though there is no logic behind my words.
So what can I do?
I can keep walking I guess.
I'll never really understand why I feel like this. I'm not hurting, I'm not sad.
But I am.
I'm not sure why I'm writing this. I just wanted to. I don't want people praying for me and comforting me, because I'm okay. I don't want sympathy. I just want to write it down.
I guess that's all I'll ever want to do.
Funny, now that I think about it.
Because once again it's come back to writing, hasn't it?
I suppose for me that's all there ever is.
So yes, I'm broken.
Yes. I'm hurting.
But I'm whole in the Lord.
I've been healed.
He's shown me a way to speak to Him without even knowing I am.
He's taught me that even when I want to give up, I can keep writing.
I can write through the pain, through the hurt, through the confusion.
And I'll always find Him in my words.
Because He put them there for a reason.
You know, when you ask most authors why they decided to become writers, they'll probably tell you a story about 'not being able to find the book they wanted to read' or 'wanting other people to experience their story' or 'using writing as an escape'.
I think I used to be one of those people.
But I think I know now why God instilled the desire to post on my blog just a few moments ago.
Even though I haven't for weeks.
He wants me to see. He wants me to know the real reason He gave me the love of writing.
Because when I write, He tells me what to say.
He knows what I want to say, and He shows me how to say it.
When I write, it''s as though He is moving through me. And that is why I find solace in it.
Because no matter what I'm going through, my writing is where I can find Him.
He's pretty much given me His home address to insure that I'll always have somewhere to go. Somewhere to call home. If I get lost, I can always get to Him. My GPS is always set to take me in His direction. No matter where I am, I can find some way to write, whether that be on a computer, or on the corner of a napkin with the broken nib of a crayon.
I've never been much for praying. I've always felt close enough to God that my every day is like an open-ended conversation. It continues throughout the day. Or maybe it doesn't.
Maybe it starts, and ends, when I decide to pick up that pen and write. And maybe, just maybe, that's what He's been trying to show me with this.
I've had it all wrong this whole time. No wonder I couldn't find joy in writing.
I wasn't acknowledging his presence when I sat down to work on my story. And I think that maybe subconsciously, I used to.
But I stopped. Why? Because I wasn't using writing as a way to connect with my God-given gifts. I was using it as an escape. And that's not why God made me a writer.
He made me a writer so that I could learn to be closer to Him. So that no matter what, I'll always be able to hear His voice. Even when it hurts. Even when it's so, so hard.
He gave me writing so that I would never be alone. Not really.
Now I know where my joy at creating stories comes from. Even from the beginning. Even before I was old enough to recognize it. My love of writing is stemmed by my love for Him. Even more.
My love of writing comes from His love for me.
I don't see things like other people do. He knew it. He knows it.
He gave me writing so that I wouldn't be lost in the dark, blind and afraid. He gave me writing as a lighthouse, a beacon calling me back to Him. I can see Him in my words, I can feel Him.
Even through the pain.
I know this is what He made me for.
this is why He gave me writing.
So I can live my life both for Him, and with Him. Because know He's shown me to see Him in the last place I expected to.
The first place He gave me.
Until the Dimming of the Stars, My Beloved Readers.