I've lost my writeability. I can't find words these days. I don't know how to wrap my unarticulated heart up in letters and paragraphs. It seems like an impossible task to even begin to try.
Just a couple weeks ago someone used the word "writer" to describe me to someone else, and I immediately began shaking my head. "Why don't you think you're a writer?" she asked me. The past few weeks of stumbling over my own thoughts, unable to process them for myself let alone express them to someone else, have been my long-winded silent answer to that question. When words need to be wrestled to the page, and hours are spent laboring over a small pile of sentences... there is just no way I'm a writer.
While I don't know that they were ever very good, words at least used to come easier than they do now. Now they are scarce, playing hard-to-get. They're hiding behind coherent thoughts, which I also can't seem to locate these days.
I'm losing horribly at this game of hide-n-seek.
It's as though my heart sprung a leak. My insides have seeped out (along with all my syllables), and there's no way to collect them all and put myself back together. And I have no idea how to begin patching up that hole.
I'm simply beyond repair.
As I type those words, I hear His whisper: That's when I do My best work.
And though my head believes that, my heart doesn't. Not really.
I won't come to a place of full surrender until I want Him even more than I want myself back.
Because ultimately it shouldn't matter that I've lost me, as long as I'm finding Him. In fact, I think that might actually be the whole point.
Now I'm just rambling, trying to find some neat way to tie a bow on this mish-mosh of unedited thoughts. But I can't.
Because I've lost my writeability.