Scrappy little painting I slung together this afternoon that pretty much sums up the emotions of the last two months of my life. I was wondering yesterday what is wrong with me and why am I so snappy and angry. Its grief. Still grief. It hangs on the edges of my consciousness and digs slowly into my heart, until I finally acknowledge it and allow tears to cleanse the frisures. 💔
I am in a season where words no longer feel effortless for me. I used to sit down and fill an entire page with confident, concise words. I knew what I wanted to say and I knew my target audience, and I had no doubt that what I had to say would be a blessing to someone. And it was. And then life happened. I have fallen on my face many times. Gotten up. Brushed myself off. And then fallen flat again. Sometimes I bounce back up, but more often than not, I have stayed fetal. Curled up. Protected my organs so to speak. Bruised, peering around, unsure if there's any use to use my words. Decided there wasn't a use and tucked my head, grasped my knees, and stayed down, because there was too much in my head. Too much to sort out. Too much that I was unsure about, so I convinced myself I had nothing worthwhile to say. A lifetime of bouncing up and not processing what things meant had made me weary. So I stayed down. This became my normal reaction over the past ...
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