Writing has become labor.
I don’t remember it ever being like this.
I have no thoughts worth capturing and the ones which have merit can’t be said just yet.
Each day has enough melancholy to cloak the light of innovation like an overcast Cleveland afternoon.
This year has challenged or completely taken so much away and my joy seems to always be in jeopardy. I have a wonderful family, an awesome job, a roof over my head and wool socks, but something is missing.
I’ll admit being 43 has something to do with it. I’m praying and seeking God’s fullness and I can sense Him but not the way I want.
I’m also convinced this will pass. God is so good and I will continue to wait on Him. My deliverer is standing by.