I’ve been sifting through lots of words the last two years. I stopped writing for a quite a large portion of that time. I sensed God calling me into stillness and intentional silence. It’s been pure love and hate.

Silence can be deafening and stillness uncomfortable.

I have asked the Lord more times than I can count, “WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO WITH THIS STUPID SPACE IN MY HEART?

It felt like I lost my words for a time. I doubted myself and questioned the Lord, because how exactly does someone feel like they lost words? I confused myself. Did I do something wrong?

I love when God speaks into our questions and exposes our hearts. A sweet and honest exchange happened and he began posing questions and challenging my heart motives.

Why did I need to speak?

Can he move without me?

What’s wrong with silence?

When he’s working in us, silence can be our friend as we learn to trust not all seasons are made for shouting. You wouldn’t serve a cake with half the ingredients, would you?

I slowly learned seeds don’t sprout when they’re planted. It’s ok to be quiet.

As a well developed human, this has led me to be annoyed {read: Confession time} at others who write when their tone has reminded me of my old one. I am very mature, I know [Feel free to just call me an eternal work in progress]. I’ve rumbled with this for a while. During these spaces, I felt God peeling away old perspectives I had learned from around me to write or speak with an expert tone. It makes my skin crawl now when I see it. I don’t think it’s ever intentional or that I ever really knew that’s where I was coming from, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t actively participating.

Writing is an actual skill. Words and tones are expressed in how they are paired and presented. Writing “truth” takes a special level of care.

I see now why I needed some silence. You cannot handle something with care until you can really see it’s value and potential and until you’ve let go of it having any impact on your own value. Our words are weapons. If we use the right ones, we will pierce the darkness.

He wanted me to write with space left for him to move, so he let me take a time out – to watch, to sit, to be refined for the millionth time, to be examined, to check my motives, to observe. Refining a skill takes time.

I’m still learning to speak with space and confidence while letting go of the need to have all the answers or solutions or steps. I’m discovering new rhythems to write from where he has moved in my spirit, from what he has done and shown me in such a way others are stirred to venture to their own place with him. He may tell you something different than he told me when you find him there. That’s how he is all sufficient.

We have good days. I’m so thankful this journey is filled with space – I’m sure there are many more breaks and spaces ahead as he’ll keep refining me and teaching me new ways and depths to discover more of who He is with each passing season.