What My Soul Must Write

Here’s a newsflash for you: I’m not really a writer.

Okay. I am a writer.

But not really.

I think I’ve just always thought things out better when I write them rather than just speak them. And, I guess that’s why I write. Because I’m kind of impulsive with my mouth, and words sometimes fly out before I catch them and take the time to mold them into beautiful when I just talk.

But writing, well, it makes me think stuff through. It lets me sculpt art from letters, put together meaningful with what would otherwise sound either mad or blurby like Charlie Brown’s teacher.

It was true when I wrote that letter to my first real boyfriend, the one who tore up my heart with his verbal abuse. About three months after we broke up, my heart was learning to forgive him, so I wrote him a letter. Because I had things that needed saying. Words that needed out sans his input.

It’s always been true of my praying as well. I have who-knows-how-many journals from high school and college and my early married years. I have some from early motherhood days, too. And one from the year we lived in Paris for four months.

Because when I write, I am focused. When I am focused, I am intentional.

And when I pray, I want to intentionally communicate with the One I call the Lord of my life.

Otherwise, my mind just wanders and I end up pleading with God at the end of a sentence whose beginning I cannot remember. Then I try to track it back to its beginning, and before I know it, I’m lost inside anything but actual communion with God.

I picked up my prayer journal again on Wednesday morning for Lent.

It was the first day of the season, one I am learning to love. Because I like the idea of seeking God more intimately in tangible ways. So I asked God what I might offer, some area of my life that needed more stripping.

All the while, I kept thinking about prayer and how I haven’t really done it intentionally in a long, long time.

I realized I’ve not just sat, quiet-like, pen in hand, no agenda but time alone with the God Who is with me.

Because I’ve been writing a lot. Trying to figure out how I can serve God better and extrapolate on His Word more. Yes, over the last few months, I have spent a lot of time reading the Bible. I’ve been writing about it, too. But the communion part of reading His Word has somehow fallen by the wayside and turned into writing about it instead. Somehow, I’ve lost the listening to God speak part of hearing His Word. And I miss hearing from Him. I miss the pouring out my heart and looking for His.

So I’m writing letters to God for Lent. Pouring out my heart with a Stabilo and my awesome green-leather notebook every morning for at least 15 minutes.

This week’s mornings have been easy because my kids are on holiday from school and we don’t get up at o-dark-thirty. But Monday promises to be more of a challenge. You know, when getting up 15 minutes earlier feels like a life-or death decision. So I started praying about it today. You know, because I believe the One Who Hears wants me to know Him and love Him so well that I can’t help but yearn for that time with Him, even from the it’s-so-early-it’s-still-dark-outside comfort of my warm and cozy bed.

Are you practicing Lent this year? Can I pray for you?