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Still Breathing



As many of my friends say, life be life'n, and things get overwhelming; however, recently I've practicing my gratitude in a deeper way that allows people to find space to join me in thanks. It's not that I had a brilliant aha moment, but rather, I've been listening deeply to the people who share feedback. Not just surface level compliments, but I'm talking about people who feel compelled to share their hearts.


Right now, a bunch of us are producing a play. Yes, I wrote it, but there are so many folks in the show that are bringing it to life in a way that has caused me to re-write scenes that express everything that the performers are giving. And chile, they are giving!


A few of these folks have said things like, "it's like you're in my head and you just wrote down what I've been thinking" or "what you wrote is how I feel in my heart, but my words don't come out right." From what I hear, there's something in the writing that makes people feel validated. Not that anybody is walking around looking for validation, but when it happens to them, it's comforting, and it clearly has an impact that compels them to share.


And while the expressions of gratitude are great to hear, I know without a doubt the praise doesn't belong to me... because I know where the comfort comes from. It comes from God.


The poems, songs, scenes, and stories I write come from prayers and the answers to those prayers. And while it's no surprise to me that the Lord can use prayer to download creativity, I'm in awe that the same comfort I felt when I received the tune or words, is somehow baked into the songs and stories in such a way that other people can glean comfort too.


Most days, it's almost too hard to think about the dark places I was in that produced desperate prayers that turned into peoms like Vital Signs**. With grief so deep that it felt like I was disconnected from my own body, wondering if I was still breathing. When the feeling of being numb emotionally felt like an out of body experienced where I was watching myself suffer alone, wondering "where's my miracle?"


But, here I am. Still breathing. My vital signs are strong thanks to my Lord bringing me through. And I'm beginning to see that when I use the breath I have to pour out authentic prayers (even when they don't fit the mold folks find acceptable), I will continue to be amazed at how the Lord moves and grooves through those poetic prayers.


**Vitals Signs is part of a scene from the musical play, INGATHERING OF GRACE.





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