Out of the grave
Spoken words have never come easily, but if you give me a few hours, a pen and paper or a keyboard, words will begin to trickle out then rush forth like the waters.
Over the past seven years I have felt this heavy silence build. The well in which the words were stored slowly evaporated until it was completely empty. A few times the rains would come and I could write from the reservoir that had filled the bottom, but it never lasted long. I attempted many times to begin again, to write my heart... but nothing would come. It's incredibly frustrating when writing is your lifeline, your way of expressing your heart.
During those years I found a new way to express what I was feeling, and it was through my camera. If I couldn't find words then I could at least capture what my eyes saw and felt. Ansel Adams quote became my motto, “When words become unclear, I shall focus with photographs. When images become inadequate, I shall be content with silence.”
While photography became my passion, and has been an expression of my heart, writing was always my first love.
Last fall I was able to attend a conference for women. Though women's conferences have never been my thing, this one served a rich purpose in my life. I can't even tell you what the topic was, or what the speakers shared, what I do know is that at some point during that weekend the Lord whispered deep down into the marrow of my soul. He showed me some very broken places that I had been trying desperately to keep covered with bandages, trying to numb the pain so I wouldn't have to feel anything.
No one likes to bleed or feel pain. Certainly not me. But isn't it pain that often reminds us how very much alive we are?
That weekend the words to J.J. Heller's Song, "Sound of a Living Heart" were sprawled over the cover of a notebook I had brought with me to take notes. I had never noticed them before. But suddenly they were the very life giving words that I needed.
I could hide myself away
S D
Somewhere safe
Far from pain
But if I refuse to feel
I’ll never bleed
But I’ll never heal
I hear Jesus calling me
Out of the grave I’ve been sleeping in
With new lungs
I’ll begin again
Lift my voice and sing my part
This is the sound of a living heart
I have found a better life
A hero and a cause
Every tear will be redeemed
In the hands of God
I hear Jesus calling me
Out of the grave I’ve been sleeping in
With new lungs
I’ll begin again
Lift my voice and sing my part
This is the sound of a living heart
It was as if I awoke from the grave I had been sleeping in to see that all the pain and trauma, and hardships of the past seven years was stopped up. There was never any salve applied before I slapped a cover over it. Survival became key, while thriving, growing, feeling, living became a thing that couldn't exist.. It had taken all my words captive and held them in prison. This was the reason I could not write.
I don't desire a to live a life that is numb. I want to feel. I want to heal. I want to have words. I want to write again.
Anne Lamott says, "Whatever you use to keep the pain at bay robs you of the flecks and nuggets of gold that feeling grief will give you."
This is the beginning.
The way to recovery.
The way to finding a voice.
The way to sharing my story.
The way out of the grave...
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