I broke up with writing last year. Wasn’t planning to, it just happened. We wanted different things, as they say, so we went our separate ways. There was no resistance from either end. It was oddly emotionless, leaving me numb for a long time to the breakup and unable to process it. Maybe I was trying to let it go to see if it would return, make its way back to me somehow. Maybe I was pretending not to care. I still thought about writing, more than I care to admit. I missed it. Missed the way words formed themselves into thoughts on the page. The delight that came from a finished piece, hitting publish and sending it out into the world to meet its desired audience. The quiet of a room during a writing session, with the air full of dusty, deep thought and half-formed ideas. The melodic sound of a keyboard at the mercy of fingertips.
And yet, even after all the disregard and neglect I hurled in its direction, writing found a way to forgive me and kindly invite me back into relationship. And I’m accepting the invitation.
I can’t help but think how similar this is to our loving Father in heaven, who is always inviting us back into relationship with Him, no matter how far we stray.
We sever our ties with Him more often than we’re willing to admit, constantly running back to a world that cannot give us what we truly seek. Broken beings in a broken world trying to figure out how to do life without giving up any control. We alternate from a hot and cold relationship with God to one that is lukewarm, leaving just enough room for Him to claim we’re doing it right.
But God, I imagine, is not looking for extremes—He wants steady, committed devotion. A heart bending to His will, or at least trying to as best as possible. There is no shame in falling, or in being tempted to walk away. We just have to humble ourselves into surrender, over and over again, and take His hand when He reaches out to bring us back into His comforting light.
Writing and God have always taken me back, allowed me to return broken and defeated, with nowhere else to turn.
And I am grateful, so very grateful. Left gladly indebted and feeling incapable of returning the gift. They have both made a space for me to figure “it” out, guided me to find my voice, and held my hand when the darkness set in. They have made me feel seen, truly seen for who I am, flaws and all. This is the beauty of belovedness.
Finding places where we are cherished is rare these days. So I will follow the page and God where they lead me. Is it always easy? Absolutely not. They can both disappoint us, leave us with doubts and confusion. But they are spaces that also hold infinite grace, fearless courage, and unabashed joy, if we willingly open our hearts to them. This is my attempt to do just that, imperfectly, once again.