My corner of the attic (my writing story)

It’s my little corner of the attic. Pillows and candles. Journals and index cards. It is thirteen years ago and I sit curled up in a ball. Processing again the news that there is no heartbeat. Five months of nurturing, dreaming. The room downstairs painted. Waiting. Anticipating. But no life will fill it.

I have an assignment: to pen my ‘writing story’. Reflecting on how I happened upon this writing journey. On the surface, I remember back to the summer of 2012 and the start of this blogging space. “No”, I tell myself, “it was before that.”

Oh, yes. It was 2007 when we were walking the road of international adoption and I would share updates with family. And my waiting and wrestling and praying made it’s way into a blog. Which made it’s way to friends and others who bravely journeyed with us. That’s when words and I became allies.

“No, before that.”

A deep sigh remembers.

My little corner of the attic.

My bones confirm, that was the start.

Blank journals that stared at me. Intimidating me. So afraid to let the ink touch the pristine pages. That the rush of my emotions would stain the beauty. Some notion that my words had to be pretty and accepting and right before they were recorded.

So I sat, curled up on my bigger-than-me pillow. The words jumbled up inside of me. Trying to make sense of it all. But inside my head the words kept bumping into each other. They had no where else to go.

Until I stopped trying to react the way I thought I was supposed to react. Until I let the voice of my Creator whisper to my soul, “let it out”.

And the words came tumbling out. Faster than my hands could write. Laments recorded before the ink could dry. Raw and uncertain. Tripping over each other to get out first.

With each word written, ten new ones came. Ones that hadn’t had room to be discovered, trapped in my desire for containment.

Once they were out, there was no stopping them. They breathed fresh air. They interacted with redemption. They tasted abundant life.

And I discovered a way to express the depth of my emotions and experiences and hopes. I uncovered part of how I am made. I discovered that ugly and messy and unsure can create richness and unsurpassed beauty.

All the stuff inside me needs oxygen. And somewhere, in the space between my mind and my journal or keyboard, the words are given new life. The Holy Spirit intercedes. Together we dance and wail and laugh. We uncover. We create. And in this sacred space we give witness to the best news ever.

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