There is something way down deep inside of me that has, for the last few weeks, prevented me from picking up a pen (or laptop) and writing. I don’t know if I can call it a block because that seems to imply that there is something other than me standing in the way of all the creativity that has been near boiling point in my brain. I could blame it on the devil but that would be too easy and give him too much credit. I could blame this enormous season of transition I’m in with a new job, new contracts, new home, and my pending nuptials. Yet, even as stressful as all of these things can be, they would only be scapegoats of my own making. The fact is…
I am deeply in my own way.
I’ve found great ways to rationalize my missed deadlines and yet even I know that such madness is unsatisfactory; a slap in the face of the One who has so mercifully gifted me. The truth is, I’ve allowed the critic in my own head to go beyond simply challenging me to be better and be more accountable to the stories I’m called to write. I’ve allowed that critic to buy space she was only supposed to lease in my head.
Pray for my deliverance.