the right to write
Writing rights things.
I’m the girl that writes. I write lists. I journal. I blog.
I Facebook. I have writing projects.
I’m a writer. It’s what I do.
The words are always there waiting to be written, and when I
don’t write them, I ache. This deep ache that can’t be righted by anything else
but writing. I write when I’m sad and when I’m mad and when I’m happy and when
I’m lonely. Writing is near and it shines light on dark places. It’s who I am.
I can’t help myself. I’ve been writing since I was a child.
I also can’t help but see the heart of God in the written
word. Obviously, the Bible… like, you know… it’s written. God in word-form. The Word of God is
living and active, sharper than any two edged sword. Words are powerful, they
are effective. They are able to carry you into another life in a way that
nothing else can. They speak. The listen. They dance. They color your
stillness.
It never ceases to amaze me that writing things down is also
healing. If you have gone through any kind of emotional therapy, I can almost
guarantee that there was some writing involved in the process. Write a letter
to someone that you have forgiven. Write a letter to say goodbye. Write down
your worries and then throw them into a fire. It’s all about “getting it out”
on paper.
Writing rights things.
Maybe my writing intensity is part of my healing process
right now, even though I’m not writing directly about my pain. I’m writing in
code, about the journey, about the process. And still I feel better every time
I open my laptop and let my fingers dance across the keyboard. I am sad when I
miss my window to write. I’m anticipating the moments when the doors are wide
open to possibility and I can write to my heart’s content all day long. I’m
jotting down ideas. I’m writing on gum wrappers, on my hand, on grocery store
receipts. I’m leaving a trail everywhere I go.
I’m a writer. And writing rights things.
lvb
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