Words fail me often.
I try to write it down, try to explain the complicated mess of emotions I feel, but it rarely comes out right. How do I explain what’s truly in my heart? Are there even words to describe the depth of a human soul? We can hide behind words so easily. Telling you that I’m stressed doesn’t capture the tangle of fear, anxiety, and uncertainty that sits heavy in my stomach. Happy seems inadequate to declare the deep joy and peace within me in those moments when I am resting entirely on God. And love – oh, love gets thrown around like a bouncy ball from a 25-cent machine in the front of a grocery store. I’ll describe my feelings towards my Chacos with the same word as my feelings toward the Lord. While I am a huge fan of my Chacos, that word means so much more when I’m talking about God – and it comes nowhere near to the magnitude of how He feels about me.
I can write it all out. I can pull out a dictionary and a thesaurus and spend my days trying to put all the parts of me down on paper, and it will still fall short. but I’ll keep doing it.
Because sometimes, putting it down in black and white is the only way for me to make sense of it. Because sometimes, pain needs to be expressed. Because sometimes, I’ll write myself into a corner of my heart I’ve never seen before, and I am surprised by what I find there. Sometimes, the words are right. Sometimes it works, sometimes I can sift through subject and verb and adjective and come up with a sentence that sparks with a bit of my soul inside.
Those are my favorite writers. The books I turn back to, the blogs I keep reading – it’s the ones who weave themselves into their words. The ones who leave bits and pieces of their heart scattered around the screen or page. The ones who open up and let me see inside.
Because the words aren’t always perfect, but neither are we. And I think our broken hearts are always reaching out to one another – to be seen, to be known, to be understood. So I’ll keep trying to write my heart out for you, and I’ll keep reading after yours, and maybe it’ll work.
Maybe I’ll catch a glimpse of who you are, and maybe you’ll accept me. Maybe we can share our stories and hopes and dreams. Maybe we can help each other heal. Maybe we can sort though all the mess together and come out a little bit stronger together. Maybe we can find the words to speak hope and faith and life into each. Maybe in all the wrong words, there will be a few that are right.
I’ll writing and I’ll keep reading. I’ll keep trying to see you and letting you see me, the good and the bad and the ugly and the awkward. And together we’ll find the words and we’ll talk through the hurting places, and we’ll start to see it all as beautiful.