Why is it so difficult for me to sit down and write? I am an English major, someone who loves to express herself through writing, at least in theory. I am completely capable of thinking outside the box in order to make a new argument and make my mark on the world of academia. I can place my voice in the character of another to portray emotion for one who has been silenced. But I am utterly incapable of using my own voice to express my own thoughts and feelings for others to hear. I fear that what I have to say is invalid. I am burdened by the ears that seem to grow ever larger and more frightening with each word that escapes my mouth. I am afraid that love does not, in fact, conquer all, and that I will be left alone by those who see me for who I am, my soul bared and raw. Or worse, I fear that I will turn around and realize that there was never anyone listening to begin with. After all, who am I that anyone should be mindful of me? When all is said and done, it is just easier, neater, safer to suck it all back in and say “I don’t know.”
And there are so many things I really don’t know. I don’t know why God places people in our lives without revealing to us why or for how long they will be there. I don’t know why we so desperately need to be loved by one another but always expect the worst from those we love the most. I don’t know what it looks like to really be vulnerable with someone, to understand what it is like to be a part of a mutually loving relationship and yet somehow trust in the unknown. I do not know why we are given a picture of perfect grace compared with which everything else in our lives seems so broken.
But maybe that brokenness gives us wounds from which we can pour out our very lives so that we might understand what it is to be filled with the healing blood of the greatest author of all.