Drifting, bumbling, wandering through fog. Stuck somewhere between what has passed and what is to come. Unsure of where I fit, confused by directions, bogged down by everything in between.
I hate that I don’t write anymore. And when I do, it feels like a struggle and reads like it’s forced. Maybe I’m just not taking the time that I should to sit down and scribble. Maybe I should listen more than write. Maybe there’s some sort of writer’s block. This isn’t working for me.
And yet, through all the blur, some things become more clear than they were before. Some relationships are jumbled, others smooth out. Some things lose importance, others stand out more sharply. So I suppose, perhaps, it’s a blessing in disguise..?
I’ve turned to poetry lately; verses about God, for He’s the only thing I can coherently write about. Here’s a snippet of one that I wrote on Friday. Perhaps I’ll share the rest with you at some point..
Earth and sky, they proclaim Your gloryeach but a part of Your redeeming story.What worth hath man, in all his pridefor You, in Your mercy, to call him Your bride?