With a few Meager Words

It's been a while since I've written. I'm not really sure as to why.

Maybe when I went home I took a hiatus from the world outside my small radius.
Maybe I just needed to place everything on hold in order for me to rearrange and put everything in it's proper place again.
Maybe I just had nothing new or interesting to say.

I do not know why I stopped. But to look fully at that I think I must examine why I started in the first place.

First off, I don't really know how not to write.

It's a bit like breathing, the constant in and out that we forget we are doing until someone or something reminds us of it. Like breathing, writing helps me survive. It provides the oxygen to my brain, my perpetual yet calming process of organizing and articulating thoughts. In a way, writing clears the clouds from the sky and provides a serene clarity that I cannot gain in its absence.

In fact, when I am unable to write my mind becomes cluttered, littered with the shards of my incomplete thoughts. It becomes a stuffy room short on air.

It is as if I suffocate without the power of words at my fingertips, the calming smell of ink wafting towards my nose, and the all too familiar feeling of the pen gliding across the paper.

Writing is a part of who I am.

So why did I stop?

I mean, writing helps allow me to continue in a chaotic world. Words are the lantern that provide a light when all lights are extinguished. My words allow prayer and hope and honesty. They bring me closer to my Maker who created me to be entranced by the inexhaustible power of written word.

Words permit an escape from all that haunts the dark corners of my mind, and the beauty is in the usage.

Because words are utterly meaningless when aligned in a row or shuffled in no particular order, but when placed in the hands of someone who can use them well, they hold infinite power. They can lift spirits, drop bombs, break hearts, form love, cause wounds and remedy them. Without them the world would find themselves lost, without purpose.

Much like how I felt about myself without them.

So why did I stop?

Why did I suddenly decide that they were no longer important to me?

I think it was because I needed a reminder. I needed to hold my breath until I was dizzy in order to remember how important my innate inhaling and exhaling was. I mean it got me to ask myself why I write, and I think here are the real reasons, boiled down concise:

I suppose I write with the hope that one day my words will speak wonders to someone, that they could console a broken heart, or shed some light in the shadows.

I write because so many words have found me in the darkness, in the exact moment I needed them to.

I write because I do not know how not to write. The words are embedded so deeply within me.

I write because I cannot escape their power, nor do I really want to.

I write because when my hand slides across a page, or my fingers press some keys I am elevated to a place where I am drowned in God's presence. It is where He blesses me with perspective and perseverance. It is my Heaven on Earth.

And I dare not risk losing that again, for it is far too important.