Honest · ramblings · washington whimsy

On Sundays, I write.

My couch is currently covered in clean laundry. My bedroom floor could use a vacuuming and there are a few dishes in the sink. I’m going to a party in an hour- I should be straightening my hair or doing my makeup.But, instead, I’m sitting here with a cup of coffee and my fingers to a keyboard. 

Because, on Sundays, I write. I write whether I feel like or not, whether I have hours and hours or just a few minutes in between activities. I write in preparation of a week to come or maybe just still in a cleansing of the week that came before. 

I write because it is in my writing that I find breakthrough inside myself.

This morning at church we actively stepped into breakthrough. We chose to believe it was there for us. We chose to believe it already has come.

I struggled with that a little.

As my boss Jamie and multiple other people in my life has said to me: I am too hard myself.

But isn’t everyone?

I lack grace for myself and I hold myself to a higher standard- a higher level. 

I have chosen to treat others how I want to be treated, regardless of whether or not I am treated back the same.

So, when it comes to breakthrough, I assume it’s for someone else. Not to belittle myself, or to be falsely humble, but because I want it to be for someone else. I want someone else to grab the thing that I have previously grabbed. 

When breakthrough comes to me I meet it gingerly at the door. I am unsure of it. I am wary of it. Not because I don’t want it, but because it seems foreign. 

I know I have had breakthrough in my life. It is so evident. I can see it across the walls and interwoven into the story of my life. 

I am realizing that I have been taught, whether through life examples or the people around me that breakthrough must be painful. 

I probably had so many small breakthroughs in my four years of therapy, I probably overcame more on the world race or in Spain then I can comprehend, but it’s the nitty gritty moments that have defined breakthrough for me. It’s the ones that came with pain and heartache and tears. It’s the storms that ended with a rainbow. 

But sometimes there are rainbows and good things without storms. Breakthrough doesn’t have to come through massive construction of the heart. 

Breakthrough can be a peaceful wind.

I think I forgot that more often then not. I think I end up waiting on the edge of my seat for something to come, when all it takes, for me, is writing a few words to realize that it did indeed happen.

So now, I’ve come full circle to say that this is why I write.

I write to pull he thoughts out of my head onto paper. I write to hopefully, start a conversation. I write to encourage you, to let you know that you aren’t alone.

Because you aren’t. 

Whether you realize it or not. Something in you is doing the damn thing. 

You are it.

So be it.

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One thought on “On Sundays, I write.

  1. I love “breakthrough can be a peaceful wind.” I forget. I think it has to be a “burning bush” or lots of bread and fish.

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