Word.

My body is tired.
My brain is physically fatigued.
But I feel alive.

I am writing.

Only four syllables.
Those four syllables comprise three words into one sentence.

”I am writing.”

The most powerful declarative that can ever be utter as a speech act is “I am.”

In the beginning was the Word.
God said.
There was.

One cannot separate
a sun beam from the Sun.

I cannot separate me from my God.
I create like God created.
The Word made flesh, bone & blood
makes me make sense.

I know the power of Word.
And I know how to wield it.

Words.

Dripping off my page
like a sensually sweet cream
liqueur from South Africa.

They keep tumbling, meandering,
then racing through my mind like a
German train that can take you
around the world in a day.
Never stopping for gas.

I cant stop writing.

I sit. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.
Until my legs go numb.
I stare at the screen until
my tired eyes see double.
I type until my fingers and
back curve in to gnarly shaped Cs
that can’t be straightened.

And yet…

… when I peel myself away from the subduction of the screen
to walk my pup,
or shovel food as fuel in my face
or relive my grid-locked bladder…

I realize I am living my dreams.

And while I’m tired,
achy and swollen,
I’m fulfilled.

I am a writer.
Speaker.
Teacher.
Thinker.

I know how to do things with words.

I am becoming what God intended when he spoke the world into existence.

So I will sit and write and rewrite and learn how to write and write tired and write achy and write, type, think, speak and pray regardless of how I feel.

My feelings don’t matter. Not with this. Not now. Not ever again. My feelings physical comfort will not sabotage my destiny.

As long as I make God proud
it–ALL of it–is worth it.