When Words Are Few

For me, words — in whatever form — became my safety. ~ Elora Nicole

My breath caught in my throat as I commiserated with the author’s sentiments portrayed in this statement.

I, too, have an affinity for words. I LOVE them. I love to see words printed across the pages of books, handwritten in decades-old letters, scrawled on notes left by husband and children, or placed with purposefulness in word search puzzles begging me to make semblance from their seeming disorder. Most of all, I love to see the words flowing from my heart and pouring steadily across blank page, releasing the wonder and aches stored within.

Words speak to me… no pun intended.

I find great solace in knowing they can be pulled forth readily and penned on paper, even when my voice remains silent. So to go through a time where words seem scarce is terrifying to me… and perhaps the very reason God has placed me on a forced sabbatical from words this past month.

Much to my dismay, words have been slow in coming lately. And those few which have come, have been scattered like a pile of Scrabble letters spilled carelessly across the table of my heart. A jumbled mess daring me to assemble them into something of meaning and significance. Something valuable. Something solid in which I can place my security.

While I can be in a room filled with people and remain silent, I cannot bear the thought of staring at blank page and leaving it empty. To open a journal and have nothing to write means that a part of me is not engaged in life. Something has gone missing.

I feel disjointed. Disconnected from God. Vulnerable and lost in a world without words.

And yet, God still speaks to me when my heart and the pages before me are empty. He loves me even as He stills my hand from penning the words to remind me it is so.

He longs to be my safety when my thoughts are silenced, when the words begging for release are quenched by the flame of His Spirit telling me…

He is enough.

As I’m slowing allowed the privilege of writing once more, I do so hesitantly. Praying for the wisdom to keep my trust from turning to the written word instead of to the Living Word.

Taking courage, I haltingly entrust Father once more to pull something beautiful from what feels so barren. To take me beyond this awkward moment of starting anew and craft a work of wonder that only He can envision.

I place the pen of my life in His hands and allow Him the task of connecting the disjointed dots of this soul to define Himself more clearly in me.




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