I like to write.
I like words.
I like the way they seem to fall into place on the page, the way they come together to form stories as witnesses to events, feelings, journeys.
Until they don't.
I have stories and blog posts that are incomplete because the words fall off...the stream dries up...the time runs out...
But for me, writing is like deep breaths. It is easier to live. It clears my head. It clarifies my path.
So why is it so dang difficult to find the time or the motivation?
Is it the fact that the pups have to be outside digging holes so that I can have a few minutes to write? Is it because I miss my netbook so much, the freedom that it afforded me to write anywhere? Maybe. Or maybe it is just busyness.
I hide in busyness.
You can't hold it against me that we cannot get together for coffee because my calendar is booked out 3 weeks. You can't blame me for not having time when I am doing good things, right? I don't have to really listen to myself, or God, if I am too busy.
And there I pause as my breath catches.
I encourage the women in my life to pray. I teach people the importance of connecting with a Higher Power. I coach individuals in their spiritual life. Yet I am suddenly feeling anemic in my own spiritual life.
This was not the post that I had intended to write, but it is probably the one that I needed to write. It is hard to tell people when you are feeling lost if you are the tour guide. Yeah, this isn't the first time I have been here, nor will it be the last. Thankfully, I know Grace shows up eventually, often when I least expect him.