Thursday, October 3, 2013

Write

Okay.  Here it goes.

Write.  Whew.  Just the thought of that word knocks my breath out and fills me with dreams simultaneously.

I have wanted to be a writer since I was four years old.  I couldn't even physically write then and I knew in my bones I wanted to write.  To express.  To let myself be heard and known.  And, back then, in four-year-old land, I was able to be and do anything without any fear or harm.  Those days were not completely carefree.  I was in the middle of a life filled with perfectionism and expectations.  My father had an iron fist and I was sometimes on the other end of that tragic, awful, painful experiencing of manly anger gone awry.  But, still, there were periods of peace and childhood undisturbed and I had hopes and dreams.  I was going to write and I was going to matter and be heard.

Years went by and my father got ill.  He had a polycystic kidney disease and had to travel out of town for hospitalizations, treatments, surgeries, dialysis.  My sister and I lived in various homes of friends and even with people we only knew a little.  My dad was emotional and distant and yet at times he was still there, loving me despite his own issues with rage.  My mother was frazzled and harried.  I wrote.  I loved my writing.  It was a place of solitude and comfort and refuge.  I could pour out and sort through thoughts as I wrote.  Writing wasn't to matter.  Writing mattered.

My father got more and more ill.  I grew to be a teenager and the disease won one night when I was twelve years old.  He was wheeled out past us on a guerney with his eyes as big as quarters and the life all gone out of him.  Writing became my pouring.  I needed to bleed out the pain and anguish of grief, of love lost and lost too soon.  I was a heart-stricken adolescent and writing became my therapy.

Years passed and I grew older.  I kept sporadic journals and wrote on Facebook and sent letters of encouragement to friends.  People always said, "I wish I could write like you." or "You always have such a way of saying things."  But in that time since the four-year-old magical world slipped by and the real world of rejection and loss crowded in, I lost my dream of writing for a while.

This past year or so I have heard God's whisper: It is time.  You can write.  I am starting now.  I am writing.  I am blogging.  I am crafting.  I am expressing.  I am stepping out and allowing God to move and restore dreams.  I write now to encourage, to share and to bless.  Writing has come full circle. 

Stop. 

6 comments:

Nancy Mukiira said...

wow! its like reading my story, am doing the same thing right now.Gal you are good.

He Sets You Free said...

Praise God that you are being obedient. I look forward to reading more of your writing. Have a blessed weekend. Tara.

embracinghispresence said...

What a tender heart you have! I am thankful you have come full circle. God is a our God of restoration and hope!

"I was going to write and I was going to matter and be heard. "

Yes, yes.

"Writing wasn't to matter. Writing mattered. "

How full circle it is. You expressed it so well.

You matter, because of who He is and your writing matters, as you walk with Him.

Peace and blessings on your voice.

Patty Scott said...

I am working on getting the widget/gadget where I can reply to each of you right after your comments. I appreciate the sweet feedback. Nancy, I'm going to hear those words, "Gal, you are good" in my heart from Him through you to me today.

Tara, thank you for your uplifting words. I am blessed by your example.

Thanks for quoting me to myself and being a mirror in that way, Shell (from "Embracing") ... I look forward to reading your posts as well. God is greatly to be praised as He redeems our lives from the pit and crowns us with His lovingkindness.

Anita Ojeda said...

I'm so glad I stopped by today! Writing IS therapy (only a lot cheaper ;) ). It also helps us know that we are not alone--especially if we bravely share it. Thank you for being brave. I'll keep cheering you on from the FMF sidelines :).

Patty Scott said...

Anita,
Thank you! What a blessing to have a FMF cheerleader!
My cup overflows.