I can feel the wind again.
I can pick up the oars for a moment and let the wind carry me – because the wind has picked up again.
I wouldn’t call it a dry spell or a valley. Just a time of introspection. A time to ask myself: What is it I dream of? What burns in my heart with joy and passion and pain?
For so long that I cannot remember when it began, I knew I was going to be a writer. About what? Whatever comes to mind. Why? Because I do not have an ongoing longing for anything else. Nothing else feels like going home. Nothing else causes me to feel as connected to the Creator. Nothing else reveals to me my own depth of relationship with and understanding of the Holy Spirit.
Through no other medium am I able to truly express my heart and mind. Spoken words fail me and often will not come. Written words are always there. I can slow down, process, and say what I mean to say, knowing it was exactly what I meant to say, even if you perceive it differently than I do. My hope is that it will move you – even if it is not in the same way it moves me…
Eyes closed, standing on the edge of the world. Life blowing around me, before and behind. Can you feel the sun just warm enough? Can you feel the wind soften her heat? Arms by your side. Head tilted back. Tears form as your heart realizes it is free.