These days I am feeling a little cracked and a lot weary.
Not the old cracked, the old weary. I am not drowning, and the cracks are not chasms.
This is not depression, but the reality of a busy season in life. And I'm not overwhelmed by the cracks or the weariness. I'm just accepting them as part of life right now and working out how to live with them.
And for the most part, it's just fine. But the writing . . . ah, the writing is suffering.
After several times of staring at the words and the screen, of typing and deleting and staring again, I decided to take a step back.
I'm too busy, my brain too full (or too empty). And I know these are not excuses, just the signs that, for this small season, the art must wait.
And that's okay.
I'm very pleased with what I've accomplished so far with my story. It's a small start--a very small start--but I think it's a good one. And it is not fear that is causing this pause, but wisdom, experience. And grace.
For as much as I am learning about discipline this year, I am also learning about grace.
Grace that flows through the cracks, that carries through the weariness, and that allows pauses. And I am confident that when this season has passed, when the grace has pooled up a bit instead of just flowing through, then the art will begin to flow and overflow again.
But for now, I just pause and let things rest.
**I would like to note that I wrote the part about waiting because of wisdom and not because of fear before I re-read Emily's post about waiting on the art (linked above) and realized she uses the exact. same. words. Love that.