wordless

 

I have tried to write, but the words don’t come. I sit at my computer and try to type, try to let the stories flow, but nothing happens; the screen stays blank, white, passionless and uninspired. My mind is tired, my eyes are tired, and all I want is to go outside and breathe in the cool autumn air that used to infuse life into the creative person inside me.

But now I walk under the trees, watching their leaves drift slowly to meet the earth, and I am met only with minimal and fleeting droplets of passion. A phrase here, an image there, a faint whisper from God—then it’s gone, and it’s just me again, standing under the trees as they shift from life to death before my eyes. What happened to the words? What happened to the stories? What happened to a vibrant mind, once uncluttered by the paltry cares of a worrisome heart? What has changed?

I trace the question to the symptoms, and the symptoms to the cause. I am wordless because I have spent all my words. My mind is drained because I have drained it with anxious thoughts. My soul is tired because it has traveled the miles of these last weeks on its emergency reserves, never stopping to refuel and renew in the beautiful, silent, living presence of God.

I have learned this lesson the hard way before, and I have the scars to prove it. I praise Him for leaving those subtle reminders to direct my heart.