It's not writer's block. I don't know if I even really believe in 'writer's block'.
It has been two months since I have written here on the blog. Goodness! Where has the time gone?
Just so you know...
I have not been sitting down at the keyboard with my hands on my head searching for words. I also have not been lounging around at home taking bubble baths, eating bon bons and binge-watching Parenthood on Netflix.
No. I have been busy, just not on the blog.
But this space and this practice has been quietly calling out to me for a few weeks now and for some reason it has been difficult for me to begin again. Not because I don't have anything to say, but because I have so much to say.
Do you know what I mean?
Sometimes we are so full of experiences and emotions we don't know where to begin to share them, so we don't. We just hold onto them. I think that's ok. I think sometimes we need to sit with such things and let them do a work in us instead of trying to fit them into pretty boxes with bows to share.
I tell you that because I don't have a plan to offer you a pretty box with a bow today. I only have in mind to begin again.
I want to tell you about the summer.
I want you to know about the Bible Study I wrote and taught to all those amazing women.
I would love to paint a picture of the community created and the life transformation that took place.
I wish I could take you for a ride on the winds of change that have blown through our family.
I would like to lay out the very significant ways my own heart has been melted and molded through books I've read, conversations I've had, challenges I've face, victories I've seen.
But there is too much for today and so I set that all on the shelf. Instead I will simply share the phrase I keep hearing over and over along every path I walk and within every corner I tuck myself into...
I'm still listening and learning what that means. One thing I know for sure is that these words and wonder we share here is a home for me and so I have returned here - to you, to this.
Tchaikovsky is dancing through my ear buds muffling the sounds of construction across the street. There are two dragonflies chasing each other beyond the porch where I sit, their wings glittering in the morning light. The rising sun has pushed me back further and further up again the wall of the coffee shop where I work outside this morning. The heat is still a bit too much for me and I'm longing for the air of fall to soften her rays.
Maybe it is 'writer's clog'. Maybe instead of being blocked from inspiration we get so full of it a clog forms. Maybe these few simple words have created enough movement within me to unclog the pipes, to get the words flowing again. Maybe some of you have months or even years worth of clogging that keeps you from pouring yourself out. Maybe you're not dried up. Maybe you're clogged up.
Whatever you've had trouble getting back to, I hope today you can just begin again - without expectation, without an agenda, without fear or doubt. Offer a few words on the page, a few brush strokes on the canvas, a few branches to the dying flames of your desires and sure enough...
movement begins and the flow follows.