You'll notice my absence from writing these past six months—it wasn't planned, but it was necessary. Wounds aren't to be displayed, but the story of scars should be told.
I'm not sure when I will be ready, but the story of my scars is one that will be told. Until then, though, I am ready to write again, to use words to communicate thoughts and dreams and convictions.
A cacophony of words from anyone with a keyboard has made me shy away. Why add to the noise? If for my own verbal processing and spiritual musings, there is no need to publish. That button is far too overused as people hide behind the confidence of their computer screens.
But it isn't my words I want to share. It is God's Word through me that is able to bring hope and healing. The words of others have been deep wells of blessing for me, and in all humility, I long to draw that same water up for others. Those who have spoken life into me over the past few years have literally raised my soul and mind from the dead. It is only with love and the hope of grace that I choose to speak life into others so that they too might live.
I make no promises as to frequency or potency, but in my heart I have offered up the work of my fingers to allow God to write His story of hope to those He draws in to read. One of those life-givers looked into my eyes and told me my words would one day be a blessing to others. This is my humble attempt.