I remember a time when my heart was broken.
I sat down and my computer and I typed away like my next breath depended on it- it literally felt like I was underwater and the only way to kick to the surface was to let the words out. Pages and pages and pages flew as the tears poured and when I was done, I had somehow run a marathon emotionally as well as felt my heart be gently wrapped in a bandage that I could not see, but felt the coolness of it.
The hurt didn’t go away, but there is some sort of healing for writers when we write.
My family and I went to the Ryman last night for Andrew Peterson’s Behold The Lamb of God show. It is truly a life-giving and life-changing experience every.single.time. One of the musicians, before beginning a song, said, “I wrote this for a friend, but in the last few days, it has helped me a ton.”
Songwriters do it, too. They write to help heal others and themselves.
But more than healing, there is a responsibility writers have, especially writers who talk openly about faith. It is this call to tell readers a story, truthfully, laced with the wisdom of the Holy Spirit, that moves them think about Jesus and maybe choose to be more like Him.
I feel that weight after Friday’s tragedy in Connecticut.
But after days of thinking about it and praying about what to say, I’m going to limit my words. One sentence, and one sentence alone, kept pouring from my lips on Friday, through tears and shock and deep sadness.
“Please, Jesus, come back.”
Because He is our only hope. Jesus is our only hope, y’all.
As you peruse the internet and read people’s writings, I pray you will do so with grace and understanding that writers are just doing what they do – writing to heal, to share hope, and to somehow bring some cosmos to the chaos, as Madeleine L’Engle teaches.
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.