Lately, I have been feeling stuck. Not stuck in a rut, but definitely stuck in a holding pattern. It’s as if I have purchased my plane ticket to the lush forests of Costa Rica, packed my belongings, boarded the plane, but now am just sitting on the runway waiting to takeoff.
Mind you, a few years ago, I hadn’t even purchased a “plane ticket”.
Now that was a rut in every sense of the word.
I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t even know if I was meant to go some place. I just knew that I was sitting in my Flintstones-era car, trying to foot-pedal as fast as I could, to somewhere, to anywhere, but was stuck in a pile of pre-historic mud.
That was me, manufacturing the terms of my relationship with the Lord. Trying to kick-start things in my own way, but failing miserably. All because I was too busy to hear Him. Too restless to find Him.
Now, God and I are cool. Really cool. I really do weep now every time I think about Him and all that He means to me. Literally, weep.
This may sound super-spiritual, but in real life, it’s actually quite embarrassing and strange. I’ll be in the middle of grocery shopping, or out with friends, and puddles of tears and snot just start streaming down my face. My heart may be bursting with excitement at the thought that He is near, but meanwhile, I actually look like some hound dog frothing at the mouth.
So, yes, it is embarrassing and strange, but hey, I’m totally digging this place where my Creator has led me.
He even spoke to me in April and told me to be a writer. Yes! I have direction in my life for the first time ever!! Woohoo! I was finally going places! I was elated. There I was, sitting in this serious state of prayer and meditation, and I felt every fiber within me being re-born to write volumes, pages and books about His goodness.
And, then, as clearly as I heard Him, I stopped writing.
Not due to lack of desire, not due to a lack of time. But, I was simply struck speechless. There I was, without a single word left in me.
This chick, who always had something to say, who often could never shut up, was being rendered mute from a writing perspective.
It’s as if the Lord clearly manifested Himself to me and told me to be a writer, and then proceeded to take my pen away upon that very same revelation.
“I was silent; I would not open my mouth, for You are the one who has done this.” Psalms 39:9
So, here I sit stuck. Stuck with inexpressible emotions of joy and gratitude. Stuck in an ocean of grace and purpose. Stuck with plane tickets to a glorious destination.
Stuck without words.
Call it writer’s block, call it a rut. But, deep down, I know it’s neither.
It’s as if I’m a vending machine, being filled up daily with all sorts of goodies, but unable to dispense a single piece of candy.
More precisely, I’m in the cocoon.
I’m not the caterpillar I was, but I’m also not yet the butterfly I am called to be. I’m something unrecognizable to me, but nonetheless, still brimming with endless hope and potential.
I am learning how to be mute, how not to be me, so that His words alone can speak. So that His words can burst through my cocoon and pour out words of healing, help and restoration.
Volumes, pages and books. All unsaid in the cocoon, just waiting to be spoken.
See you on the other side.