Beck Wattier

Writing

Mar
13

This isn’t an announcement that I am ‘picking up writing again’ with all the plans and promises that those kinda posts entail. I quite literally haven’t been able to type more than three words in this space without stopping and erasing them for the last year or so. Partly due to life being busier and schedules being crazier but really truely due to the place(s) and season(s) I’ve been walking thru and the things going on inside of me.

This isn’t a post about the things that have been going on inside of me (or around me, or to me) because honestly I don’t have words and really dont know if words exist to adequately convey it. One thing I’ve learned is that sometimes there are things you experience or learn or go through that only you see and know. There may be a physical circumstance, and maybe tangible people involved, but the deep things stretching or moving around inside of you are changes only you can feel or know. Maybe those aren’t for sharing.

The times I’ve tried to sit down and write something that I could post on the internet (what is the criteria for that anymore?) there has been a physical tension rise up in my chest and I’ve stepped away. It’s like there has been so much inside and no where to put it that I’ve grown incredibly much in my ability to push through and keep it inside. Like there is a flood water locked up behind a sealed door and as my fingers graze the keyboard its the same as the doorknob turning and the rubber seal beginning to creak before it opens. If that door is opened there is no turning back and no regulating what comes out and at what speed and what damage may happen in its wake.

I don’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t know why there is an internal healing difference in writing words on this screen and sharing them with perfect strangers, and writing words in my personal journal. You could say it’s for transparency. That other people go through other hard things and that by sharing my things I am helping them. You could say its a gift, a calling, that to not write is to deny a part of myself that makes me me. You could say it’s a reaching out. That in some way by knowing that someone somewhere is reading this it tells me that I am not completely alone, that I am connecting in someway. You could say all these things, I could too. None of them sit well with me tonight. I don’t know. What I do know is I don’t have energy to overthink these things anymore. I am way past weary of having to understand the purpose of things before engaging in the acts.

I have come to know my Father over the last six months in ways I never knew I could. He has led me through some places where all the nicely packaged spiritual disciplines and christian speak phrases have been completely lacking. We use prayer as a tool to keep ourselves in line or to call in requests, or even to commune with Someone when we feel the need…all things WE control, all pieces of OUR strategy. I have come to experience and grow in the kind of prayer that sometimes has to happen without words, when you don’t know what to ask for. When you have to choose to rest in the truths that you know and believe and cling to, even when there isn’t energy to boldly proclaim them. There have been nights so deeply dark and lonely and confusing that the only words I could figure to voice were ‘Please hold me.’ And He has, and He is, so closely that I could almost feel His heart beating and His breath on the back of my neck.

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