Faith in the Written Word

I’ve often thought that to write one has to have faith that you actually have something to say.  Lately, my faith has been shaken.    A bad case of writer’s block was making me question writing at all.  That was a cop out.

Fortunately, part of me is smarter than my brain.  My heart was still in it.  In fact, my heart was so much in it, that I didn’t have the words to describe all that I was trying to process.  Writer’s block was not a waste land empty of words and meaning.  It was a fertile field on which many seeds had been sown.  I just need to wait long enough for them to take root and start pushing their little plant parts through the topsoil.

All the while I was having doubts and questioning myself and whether or not I had anything to say or if I have taken complete leave of all my senses, things were stirring under the surface.

As I began my day, under a sunny spring sky, the pieces fell into place.   I began to see more clearly.  Then, as the laws of serendipitous fate would have it, I read this in one of the blog feed updates I follow:

“I can’t tell you that the writing path is an easy one. I can tell you that it’s worth travelling. And if you want to be a writer, if your life doesn’t feel complete without writing, then you already have the faith that you need.”  Ali Luke Hale    from:

Writing has come to have great value to me.  It forces me to process thoughts and feelings in a meaningful way.  It gives me a framework with which I can begin to decipher the mystery that is my life.  It allows me to step back and become a better self.  It forces my into an emotional honesty that while often uncomfortable is so helpful in leading a more fully engaged life.  Some insights just take time.  Writer’s block doesn’t last forever.

We are who we are.

Those are such simple words.  Accepting who I am has been one of my most difficult challenges.  Writing is one of the way I overcome that challenge.

Recently, I struggled with a loss.  It wasn’t the loss of what was or what had been but the loss of what never was.  I blamed myself for this lack.    I was troubled by the fact that I was missing something that I’d never had.  It defied logic but it still hurt.   I fought against it.  Yet, it  filled my waking moments and appeared in the broken places of my dreams.

This morning, I realized that the greatest pain came from what I chose to believe about myself and others and not the loss itself.   I had seen myself as unlovable, unworthy, fatally flawed.  I’m not really any of those things but I had let those things shape much of my life.

This morning, I could accept the fact that there will always be a sense of loss where I wanted love to be.  Wishing won’t change it but neither will my carrying the blame and shame of the loss with me.   A better part of me was suddenly liberated from a self-imposed exile of the heart.

We are who we are.

My understanding of who I am grows every time I write.  After all, I write primarily for myself.     It’s what I want to do.  It’s often what I like to do.  It feels good to splash words on the page and then to step back and see a picture there between the spots of color.

We are who we are.

This morning, I made peace with that.  Tomorrow may find that peace absent but just for the day, I’m welcoming it in and sitting down and writing with its power flowing out my fingertips.  I’m enjoying who I am.  No apologies.  No blame. No shame.  Today, I have faith in the process and in the power of the written word.  I embrace it.



I am the person behind the words printed here. I write because my heart will not allow me the option of NOT writing. It has taken me half a life time to discover this basic truth, but now that I have, writing is as natural as breathing. This is where my breath takes the form of words.


I am reading

The Miracle Morning: The Not-So-Obvious Secret Guaranteed to Transform Your Life (Before 8AM)
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