I’ve been trying to free write for an hour now, and have erased it all a thousand times. It all felt so woe is me, and boo-who Dee. But really it isn’t so sad, it’s just so… I’m not sure.

There is nothing freeing when one writes out of spite, or fear, or… something that isn’t… freeing. And so I write with hands dipped in hope and raised by Grace because though I’m uncertain, I know in Him I am most certainly free.

My words, they’re all jumbled thick and rude in my head and I’d thought to myself, Man I’d like a break by now. Yeah, you too hey?

The thing is, I don’t want a break like a rest or a ten hour nap. I don’t need to stop; that’s not what I want. And though I’m not sure how to say it in a simple sentence or a to-do list, I certainly know what it writes like.

See it writes like I want a break free; a get out of this little jail free card. And it writes like airplanes and unknowns and I want.

I want fingertips tapping at old laptops and music in my ears. I want oceans surrounding me and cultures engulfing me; like white christmas lights on wrinkled palm trees and the smell of salt water in my nose. I want Jesus in the unknown and adventure only God could unfold. Tears in my eyes and dirtied-free hands of once enslaved children sticking messy into mine. I want the dust of brick layers holding to the hairs of my unkempt brows while I learn to sing the song of their cries for liberty here. I want to write freely and for at least one thousand hours long. I want to hold my nephews and know my nieces and give under-ducks until my old back gives away and those children grow solidly in silly auntie love. I want home, and warmth, and ruckus, and wisdom, and the scent of cinnamon filling up the air. I want justice and renegades, lessons from grandfathers, and hope, and stories, and family, and laughter, and a strong hand to hold, and a fire to that office chair; and though I’m not sure, it writes like…

I’m not certain but I’m certain I want in. Because this heart and these hands, they are the workings of a Savior who drenched me in his hope by raising me in grace and though I’m not sure… I’m hearing these whispers like He is.