Words are gifts, she thought, to be used thoughtfully and with wisdom, she knew that all too well. They can heal as much as harm, and tear down that which has been built up. We use them without thinking, and throw them around as if they have no worth, yet the power of what comes out of our mouths and what we write is so grossly underestimated. A simple, kind word can be a soothing balm to a multitude of wounds, and a scathing, sharp retort can leave one reeling. One word can speak volumes, and a thousand can echo with no meaning or substance. Words are how we connect, how we live and for some, as vital as breathing. There is such beauty in these collections of letters, the way they form and shift to convey a thought, a breath, a heartbeat.
In thinking all this, it started to make sense why the telling was so hard. She loved words, loved hearing them, seeing them, playing with them. For her, words were as much as a requirement of life as oxygen - indeed, at times when she felt she couldn’t breathe, when it felt as if the world was suffocating her, she still had her words. The thought of not using them as they were intended, for the story within her, was almost enough to stop her from trying. But where would that get her? She knew the words were there, waiting to come out when she was ready, waiting to begin the healing. ‘Ahhhhhh’ she sighed, feeling the pieces start to drop into place as she allowed her soul to sit with the thoughts in her head, realising that this was a part of the journey of her head filtering down to her heart. ‘Now?’, she questioned Him, realisation dawning on her, ‘really, like this?’.But it made sense. He made her. He made her to love the words He blessed her with. He made her with the desire to see and to hear the words of the stories - her own, and those who crossed her path by His design.
I don't remember learning to write, I only remember that it was something I had to do every single day when I was a kid, right up until I finished high school. Then.....I just stopped. I don't know why, I don't remember there being a specific reason, I just did. I've journalled off and on in the nearly 20 years since, and I started telling my story on my original blog back in 2004. But as far as actually writing a story, beginning to end, with a purpose, or a poem that speaks what's in my heart? That's been a long time gone, too long, and I've lost a part of myself in the process.
Re-reading the passage I wrote from the perspective of the character I created for a story reminded me of what's in my heart. Like all of us, I have a story to tell, and God created me to write as much as He created me to breathe, so it's no wonder that I've felt like something's been 'missing' all this time. I know this all sounds very melodramatic, but it's where I am now, at this point in my journey - I have no idea what my story is, what will come in the telling.
As with most things that grab my attention in life, I've come across a couple of bloggers whose voices really speak to me, in particular Emily Freeman at chatting at the sky. Now I'm not looking to publish a book or gain a huge blog audience or anything like that, but her posts on the whys of writing, the motivations and the how-to's have really encouraged me to just start again, to pick up the pen and put it to paper (yes, I'm a traditional girl at heart).
I'll leave you with a long-overdue Instagram Friday (albeit today being Sunday......), some pics from the last few weeks of life
A trip to Alice Springs for work (very out of the ordinary!!)
Our lovely hotel, The Chifley Alice Springs Resort
A tiny snippet of the extraordinary outback scenery of this town
My big sky obsession continues
The newest member of our household
More big sky love, from a different perspective
Playing along with Life Rearranged's InstaFriday