Inked with Love



I like writing science fiction and fantasy. Nothing wrong with that, in one sense. In plenty of ways, it makes it real easy to write about stuff that doesn’t mean anything in my spiritual walk, or if it does, I don’t quite understand how.

But that’s what I love, breaking barriers and walking in different paths than this mundane world that honestly doesn’t appeal to me in any sort of fictive sense.

But as far as that goes, I don’t write themes, don’t decide this is the spiritual lesson I want to illustrate; at least, no good fiction out of me comes from that sort of approach. When I write, I write characters and emotional arcs and questions I can’t even put a name to.

The stories that interest me the most don’t exactly get much in the way of approval from the people whose approval actually matters to me. My grandmother didn’t exactly fall in love with the story of a culture that believed in an unknowable Creator God and the father that entered total crisis mode when his daughter claimed to have spoken to God directly. And my grandfather didn’t see the point at all of the story he described perfectly well, of a girl who was a bit lost trying to find her own self and walk again.

Maybe it’s because I make that journey far too often myself.

It’s easy to get lost in the detritus of this world and that’s half the problem. I pick myself up, dust myself, find myself writing poetry that’s as cheerful as a drizzle in the middle of a cold snap, and then wonder why it is everyone complains it’s too heavy and eventually I’ll grow out of my predilection for the unreal.

Somehow I don’t think I’m going to outgrow that. I’m getting to be too old to just outgrow the things I love. I change. I do grow, but I’m not so sure this thing inside me is wrong. I’m just also not so sure that it’s right. The fact that I keep most of my writings thoroughly pen named at best and drawered at worst isn’t exactly a good sign.

Somehow I know You’ll give me the answer if I just keep seeking You. I’m sitting here, holding out for one. I know You’ve seen me waiting. I promise, I’m not going to leave by Your grace, if You will keep me.

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Letter on the Start of a Brand New Project


Dear God,

I feel like it’s been a while since I’ve done something like this, and I have no idea what I’m doing. Which is a little scary and yet not that scary at all. I grew up not knowing where we would go or what we would do, only “that way”, some sort of direction from you that, while not vague, often felt lacking in specificity.

I feel like I’ve been away from home a long time. The seat’s a little dusty that I used to sit in and I’ve forgotten every answer I once knew by heart. I’ve been asking You for months now, even years, what are the questions I keep asking because I can’t even figure out that. Why do I have these questions and really, what are they? I’ve always been really good at hiding everything important in between the lines because it’s a whole lot more comfortable to leave it there than to bring it out and risk putting it into these inadequate words that I love but never seem to really do.

You’re going to be here with me, right? I know You are. You always are, but that’s not really what I’m asking. Do I ever come right out and ask? Am I where You want me? Is this what You want from me? Guess I’ll find out.

Please, God, don’t let it hurt as much as it did the last time.



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