I write.

I don't write for you- not at first. I write for me. Because I need to, I have to. I'm realizing that now- just now, actually. I keep telling myself I'm not a creative person. I don't have anything to offer as far as creative things go. I keep saying that all I need to do is find my thing, my fit. And that thing is unique and fun and sacred and hard and gives back. See, so it can't be writing because I just told you I don't write for you. I write for me. Because it connects me, the creation, back to my Creator. I was made to make beautiful things, to bring order to the chaos, to offer wholeness in the face of all that is broken. It's hard for me to see how writing can do any of those things. Writing. My writing, my stories, my words. It seems so selfish. Yet as I put these words on paper, it feels like things coming together, it feels like tasting a hint of that wholeness I am desperately after- it's there, just barely on the edges of my tongue. It's exciting. It's scary. I'm accepting God's invitation to co-create with Him. If I don't I may very well stay the same. I may not change. I may not do brave things. But I want to. I will be brave. Something in me is burning- low, warm, and small, but it is radiant! I will not smother my creativity with my own fear and doubt. I've done enough of that. Hang out with me for the journey? So, that's scary for me too. I'm asking you to hold me accountable, to encourage me wherever my writing adventure leads. If I'm honest with myself, I have no idea where this will go. But I am brave, my God is big and faithful, and my heart yearns for adventure. I know I was made for more. I'm going.

I write.