My Seven-month Silence

So, it's been a while

Sometimes the fullest seasons of life are those that get the least recognition in our journals, our blogs, or our cameras.

We are so deep in the living that recording is the last thing on our minds.

And it’s okay.

It’s okay to soak in the amber glow of a drowsy sky without reaching for the camera.

It’s okay to stand in shock, staring at two pink lines, and live the next weeks swimming in a sweet kind of terror without informing Facebook.

It’s okay to wrestle over finances and forgiveness and let it stay in the secret holy of my heart, unblogged.

It’s okay to shake with rage over injustice and violence and never spew my outrage for the world wide web.

These are the things I’ve been telling myself over the past seven months while this blog sat untouched. At first, the silence fell because writing the deep things of my heart would have exposed the deep things of another’s. I love them too much for that.

Then, it was because morning sickness dragged me spinning into a month-long pit of nausea. (Why on earth do they call it morning sickness if it lasts all day…?!)

And then it seemed the world began to bleed—no, hemmorage–from its accumulated brokenness in Florida, Iraq, France, Bangladesh and a thousand other places. I felt that my words would be mere dew against a forest fire at best, unintended gasoline at worst.

Without the blog, my heart had to learn new outlets–or burst open. It was rough. It felt like learning to inhale through your nose when you’ve always been a mouth-breather, or trying to write with your wrong hand.

So instead, I walked. I breathed prayer to the rhythm of my tennis shoes. I talked out loud like a crazy woman in my car. I listened. I read articles and interviews of survivors and hurting, angry people and tried to understand what they were living.

As the months passed, I realized that it was good to disentangle myself for a time from platforms and performance and statistics that could never measure or fill my heart. Even the most beautiful of outlets can become a demi-god, demanding too much.

I also realized that after listening, it is good to speak. After weighing the response, it is good to answer injustice with truth and expose bias and violence for the shameful things they are.

So I’m back. The keys feel good under my rusty fingers, and I feel a fresh courage to add my voice to topics I’ve previously avoided. I’m also eager to continue listening, especially to you, and I’m excited to see what conversations unfold.

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