what is it to write?
if i were to peal my thumbprint, the etchings could circumscribe the globe. the thing about life, the life God created, is that the details are infinite.
what is it to write? to me, it is painting and music and architecture; it is dance and botany and wailing. it is hunting and metallurgy.
why do i have words? why did God have words? why does He still have them? He never needed them; why did He speak us into being? why not just wave His hand? what are words to God? we are words.
what is it to write? it is a little picture of God’s creating
writing makes me less alone, God says. honestly, Lord, it doesn’t make me feel less alone. why do You – if it was You - say it makes me less alone?
aloneness isn’t just about me.
i don’t know what to do about the words inside me. there are so many and it’s like being in labor because there is little issue as yet. i am worried that my child will be stillborn, or worse, will die inside of me.
write for this moment now, You say. okay… now is the birthpains. You are the Midwife, the Father, the Friend. you know the course of this passage. You even know the make-up of my child.
i pray for a timely birth.
