10:47pm

A pen, planner, and journal, topped with glasses. Photo by me. 

10:47pm - I was lying in bed with my mind buzzing, thoughts of the day flicked one after the other - the rapidity of my thoughts too quick to unpack any particular reflection - incomplete work tasks, personal tasks, dreams, visions, hearing from God… questions followed the incomplete tasks... "am I living up to my faith?" "am I obeying in every way?" "Have I missed His call - or mis-stepped on some task that seems unimportant now, but will prove to be a fatal error in the future?" I lie still for a few moments trying to let my thoughts slow, but they continue unencumbered - building speed with each undone or forgotten task…

Not enough.

The words ring in my mind as I type this now. There's too much - but my instinct is to say that there's not too much, that I'll just work harder tomorrow - I'll push myself more - I'll check off more boxes. I'll do more and that will be enough and I will be at peace. 

Except I won't and it won't.

Tomorrow I won’t get up at the "right time," I won't spend enough time with Jesus, I'll let myself get distracted and then my time will be gone, squandered like loose change on snacks at the convenience store. My time's spent, but once the snacks are consumed - they've offered no nutrients and accomplish the job of satisfying hunger very poorly.

This is not the pattern I want to live - but this has been my habit. I don't push myself hard enough - but then again I push myself too hard. Majoring on the minors and vice versa - never accomplishing enough and accomplishing the wrong kinds of things - the things that don't move me closer to my goals. If you look at my planner and check lists, you can see that I have been productive, but the things I do aren't the things I long to do deep in my soul.

I need to write. I have to. Yet, when it's time to put in the work and put words on paper, or on a screen, I look up writing tips and tricks instead. I scope out new writing courses and amass for myself free writing PDFs and other random bits of information, all in hopes of writing someday, of getting published some-day...

But someday never comes and I'm left pen in hand or fingers to keys with no new words produced, no new worlds created and the passing thought that I won't ever make it or that I can get to it later, maybe tonight, or tomorrow. "Yeah, that's when I'll get to work." I say to myself. "I'll start my daily writing habit tomorrow. I'll begin that other new habit too - the one that if followed daily will make me healthy, wealthy, or wise. It's the key to it all - if I just do that one thing -- oh, and I can't forget the other habit I've been wanting to start! I'll start that tomorrow too." I promise as I pacify my goals for the night.

Then, I'll finally be who I'm meant to be. Successful. Happy. At peace. That's when I'll reach the pinnacle and won't ever fall down. Others have fallen from grace, but oh not me. Once I reach the heights, it'll be different for me. I'll be different. I'll have the kind of life I want to have and be the kind of person I know I am if, just if, I could have that kind of life.

But I've got it backwards. I don't become who I am when my life is 'just right' who I am is happening all the time. I'm becoming me right now. And who am I becoming?

The one who delays, not gratification, but hard work? The one who daydreams and envisions the future she isn't willing to work for?

I read earlier today about a woman who worked long days, took the bus home, fed her kids, put them to bed, and then spent hours writing. This woman is famous now - she wanted it. She was desperate. She had to have it. So she made it happen. She worked for it. No one handed her success on a silver platter. In fact, she overcame greater odds than most to be successful.

How bad do I want it? These are the words that got my out of bed 20 minutes ago to pour this out at just past quarter to eleven. Those are the words that pulled me from the warmth of my bed and cool air from the fan, the perfect sleeping combination, to document my struggle. To be honest with myself and release these words I've kept inside.

But this is only the beginning. The words I've written that have never seen the light of day… the words that I have yet to write. The ones so deep in my heart that only the years themselves can draw out - those words deserve to be heard, they deserve their day on the page.

When I wrote out my overarching goal for my writing this year it was to, "write they words on my heart." I had planned to complete two writing exercises per month and post a monthly blog. Though I have not done that yet...I have many ideas of what to write; I've even assigned topics for each month. But I have not put pen to page or fingers on keys to create what needs to live under each title.

I don’t want to be what I've been. I want to be better, I want to do better. I want to write. But it is more than a desire. It is a need. I need to write. Not to check off a box, but because unless I release these words I'm going to burst. I carry too much in heart. I have carried too much for far too long.

I am pregnant with words, with stories of unsung heroes, and ballads of grief … someone once told me that if I am truly pregnant with words, then there will come a time that the pressure will be so great that I will not be able to continue holding back what I've been carrying so long. It will have to be released because a baby must be born when she has reached full term.

A woman cannot hold a baby inside when she is on the birthing table - she reaches the end of herself and must look even deeper to press into the labor to bring about the new life. It is a labor of love. Babies kept in too long die because they were designed to be released. They're supposed to be brought into the world; to take on a life all their own.

I believe that is what my words will do, maybe not these words, and maybe not the words I'll write tomorrow or even next week. But someday, some-day, my words will grow and evolve and take on a life all their own. They will give life to new stories, new ways of thinking, and paths of healing. My words will mark hearts. They'll stick with people once they’ve read them.

My words will make an impact. I know this because if my words were unimportant, then it would not take such work to put them on the page. If my words did not matter, then I would not be compelled to write.

As it is, I must write - not because I want to, but because I have to. So I will. My words will be chronicled and together we'll discover why they must be revealed. Why they must be shared. I'm excited to discover what I've carried all this time.