Writing has always been the peacemaking of my soul. I write to find out how I really feel. I write through everything – including the bad. Including the seemingly impossible to write – in those moments when the pen falls off and my closed eyes take over.
I never claimed or promised to be a good writer, or even a writer at all – but I promised myself to keep writing. Even when I feel like my heart has nothing coherent to share. Not because it doesn’t feel but because it feels too much. When life is a blur and you keep grasping at blessings and reaching for the joy – but this illusive joy falls just out of reach.
When convictions sting hot in my palms and my soul strings begin to unravel. When I’m reminded – no matter how many times or how deeply I’m wounded, I’m called to forgive. And not just forgive – love. The words pump me through. In lamplight, curled in an old chair – a tattered journal lays open.
“Lord, fill me with your love and forgiveness.
Light my heart on fire. Tear these walls down…”
Through the grit, He is there. Through the pain, the pen leads me to the Cross. Chicken scratch sprawled on recycled paper. The remaking of me. Numbering my blessings, writing love notes to Jesus. Just like I’d write to an old girlfriend, I write to Him. He who never disappoints. He who fills. He who devours that which I sprawl, eagerly awaiting my quiet heart – my submissive heart… so He can write back. And I can fully read Him and embrace what He has for me.
“All you who are burdened…” He whispers.
And I read. “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” (Matthew 11:28-30, The Message)
“Cassandra – yes, you. You are burdened. Cast your cares at my feet. Bring everything to me. Cassandra, I love you more than any one can or ever will. Cling to me. I will not disappoint. I will teach you have to really live. I mean, REALLY live, and truly love.”
Closed eyes and stilled pen can be like falling flat on your face, surrendered, waiting. Twisted, broken – so completely broken. Yet, in the distance, on that horizon, Hope shines through.