I think I've forgotten how to write.

I've been gone from this blog for years now. Yes the occasional, once yearly post might have popped up here and there, but really, my commitment to pushing myself to articulate the unfinished, pre-processed deep changes and soul stirrings going on inside me has been on pause for quite a while now. At least as far as this blog has been concerned.

I'm not apologizing for it. It was coming, it was time. I know there was a mighty work occurring in my heart. One that needed to plant into the deepest, darkest, most private places where I could be okay knowing there was only One who saw, One who understood, even all that I did not understand, of how I was being changed. What was being birthed in me.

It began before I knew there would be a fifth baby. It started with an urging toward simplicity. And an assurance that I was seen. It called for quietness. It called for patience. It called for trust. It asked me to take all that I wanted to be; all my longings to be recognized, understood, significant, to bundle them all up in a blanket and plop 'em down at the foot of my Lord and find peace. Rest. And as I did my heart suddenly felt less grabby, my thoughts less panicky. I was discovering a secret. And it felt good to know it, instead of write about it.

It continued as I learned of the newest and most unexpected life growing inside me. But now this call for quietness no longer felt like a struggle. In fact all I wanted to do was be quiet. And hide. And grieve. And wonder if I'd ever be okay again. You'd think this would feel shameful. But my God is a God of grace, and intimacy and kindness. And He again promised me He saw me. And that I needed no one but Him to understand what was at work in me. He urged me to feel all the feelings. To lay the mess and the confusion and the fear before Him and again find peace. This time He took my offering and He used it to propel my heart into a swell of compassion and mercy and reverence that my old self hadn't even known was missing. It was a time of humbled gratitude, but for me, there could be no writing about such mystery. It would all come out flat.

It went on. There was a journey of stripping bare and laying down. As my eyes opened to see how desperately I sought to secure, provide and protect my own little bursts of joy throughout my days. Again He whispered to my heart to trust. To believe that He really could be my whole portion. And that I would never ever be able to taste His fullness until I stopped filling my hands with my own trinkets. I burned them up right there at His throne, trembling and skeptical but relieved that the battle was over.

And then came the waves. Currents of grace and abundance and humbling, shocking, unspeakable kindness. And His voice. So near. So real. Asking me one more time to trust Him. To believe that it was HE. Behind it all. To bury every bit of skepticism and judgement and pride that had kept me at bay as a servant; instead of a beloved, doted upon and intimately tended to, daughter of the King.  I spoke of this some, I shared it with a few. But I didn't write it down. There was too much awe, too much wonder. The blank screen and blinking cursor felt overwhelming.

And now, here I find myself, a good three years later at least. And I think I've forgotten how to write.

Everything is different now. The propensity toward quietness seems now to be the dominant force. My need to be understood, far smaller. And it's been so long, it should be easy to walk away. And yet the restlessness is there. Urging me to speak. To articulate. To process and share and push myself once again in this fashion.

So I'm going to try. But the beginning feels daunting. So bear with me as I tip toe back in. It might take a while to find my new voice.

Thanks for journeying along.