Writing About Not Being Able to Write?

To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven (Eccl 3:1)

This has been a weird year. I'm not sure how to articulate what is different about this year, and that is troubling me. Usually, I can process how I am feeling, put it on a page, and make some sense of the restlessness in my heart. But of late, I have sat many a night staring at a blank blog post, a paragraph of something I started previously, an idea I jotted down to try to process through, and I can't seem to put words to paper. I try not to stress about it while the fervor to write bubbles up inside me, but I just...can't...make...words.

I have words. So many words. Two partially written books with chapter outlines, a myriad of sermons, papers, and partially written articles. There are a host of Bible studies and devotions I have done, daily devotional notes I could pore through, and several years' worth of daily journals I could peruse to conjure up an idea, but it feels forced in this season. And forced writing feels academic. I prefer to write inspired. 

Inspiration brings a filling that pours over onto the page. The words seem to flow effortlessly from the dead center of your heart and emotions. It feels raw, exciting, and freeing all at the same time. There is a certainty and conviction to words born of inspiration. I miss that feeling. Perhaps something is stirring. New words are falling onto the page tonight.

I have felt more empty than filled in this season. There has been much pouring into and much pouring out of my soul in recent months - a storm of thoughts, emotions, and ideas that are brewing. Endeavoring to sort out what God is trying to show and teach me in this season has been like trying to grasp the wind. The feeling of it moves through my fingers, but nothing materializes when I try to grab hold of it.

Perhaps this is a season of listening and not talking. A season of learning and not teaching. A season of discerning and not deciding. To everything there is a season. We can easily define the four distinct seasons of the year on our calendars. In contrast, the seasons of our lives have no distinct beginnings or endings. No defined lengths. Just realizations of a shift in direction, a change of conditions, or a shift in the climate. So, we adapt to the temperature, shelter when needed, and keep our eyes on the horizon, praying for a change. A shift. A reprieve. 

And so with my eyes to the horizon, I continue to search and pray...

Speak, Lord, your servant is listening.