Maybe

So reluctant to write my story, any story as of late. So overcome with… well, life really. The busyness of it. And so full of intention. So wanting to slow it all down and be fully present.

So reluctant to… let my past define me. And honestly, I guess these are all excuses. Because I am full of want for story, full of desire to write. Still, there is this weighty, overwhelming sense that if I sit and wait on words to come, they will be accompanied by tears, and what a waste of an hour it would be for me to sit, heavy with sadness, grieving my past, when my present is so full of Amazing Love.

Soon I will. Soon I will set down the wonder that consumes me most days, pick up my old Stuff, thumb through it and write down what’s been Redeemed. Promise. Because redemption, after all, is ugly made Beautiful, Life from death, and I’ve got tremendous amounts of that.

There is just so much goodness around here, there really is. And it is the best kind of fog to be lost in. I snap photos almost constantly, bread crumbs I hope will lead me back to these blissful moments should I ever get lost again.

I guess that’s the thing, I don’t want to visit the places I left behind. But maybe if I do, maybe the Way to Freedom and grace will be made a little clearer. Maybe. Maybe it doesn’t have to be perfect. Maybe if I write about what happened and what was, who I am will be made clearer.

And hopefully, surely, who He is will.

Soon, all my sighs of deep contentment will string themselves together into a story. Maybe they are right now and I just need to listen.

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