I feel like a chicken bone
Picked clean of my
Skin, fat, and muscle.
Picked apart, but there is still meat on those bones.
I find myself writing little lines of prose here and there; with a sharpie on the calendar, in the notes on my phone, on a scrap of paper found in my purse. Because even though this is the most draining time of life I have yet to experience, in every way, there is still a little more I can give. Even though the chicken bone looks clean, there is still yet another sliver of flesh remaining; and so it is with me. While I am exhausted and emptied, there is still a few drops of me left.
So I let the drops leak out. It is the only way to get more of me. I write, I sketch, I color, I do whatever I can to squeeze out the drops of creativity; and I put them in my cracks. Like tiny pieces of putty, I use those drops to fill in holes.
That is my gift. God gave me a gift for words and silly things; and I use them to heal myself. I use them to let God in, to let Him heal me.
I find myself in words
Reading, it is my home
It is in words that I belong,
I belong to them.
Reading somehow nourishes me; creative language nurtures and comforts me, gives me the ability to articulate and voice my emotions. Writing reveals me, prunes me, allows me to stretch a bit more with each word.
Do what nurtures you; not what nurtures your ego, or hurts, or vendettas, but what nurtures you. You, the person, the soul, the one that was made with intention and purpose.
The more you give yourself to the craft that nurtures you, even when weak and road weary, somehow, the more healed and whole you become.
Life will find a way: let it.
Some people sing. Some people organize. Some people formulate mathematical equations. Whatever your thing is, whatever it is that was planted inside of you by God, do it. Do it well or do it feebly, but whatever you do, do not forsake it.
Do not hide, or bury, your talents. Let them out into the light, let yourself be in the light. Sweet friend, no more hiding yourself. No more hiding your talents. Be you and all that being you entails; be you with all of the muchness you can summon.
Let your gift, talent, dream, see the light.
For far too long I refused to allow myself to dream. I refused to read books that were works of fiction. I did not write poetry or essays. And I was stunted, shortened, and despondent. Because, for better or worse, the silly and wordy things are the things that God chose to seed inside my soul. And when I reject them, I lose a chunk of my purpose and zeal.
Instead, God chose things the world considers foolish in order to shame those who think they are wise. And he chose things that are powerless to shame those who are powerful.
1Corinthians 1:27 NKJV
Want to know why I choked my talents? Because I did not think I was good enough at them. Or because other people did them better. I labeled them as foolishness because I heard someone else say it was foolish. Someone said that my way of doing things was childish, so I stifled it.
Writing that last paragraph sickened me to my core, but it is the truth. I stopped being me because someone else thought it was stupid.
This is why I beg you to be you: because I know the disease of living by another human’s measure of your worth, and it will surely bring you death. Jesus did not die on a cross for you to measure up to another one of His creation’s yard stick.
Fly, take root, and bloom, little seed. Then repeat.
Y’all, it is all grace. It is all grace. These little words, it is a grace I get to write them. It is grace that I get to take twenty six letters and arrange them into words. It is grace that I no longer demean or demoralize myself with someone else’s words. Please do not take offense by this: but you do not define me. And I will not take offense when you do not allow me to define you.
Be you. Do what makes you, you.
Grace to you, and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Philemon 1:3 KJV
And now, fat full
of words and prose,
I am contented.