She wrote that the computer had just crashed and she hoped I didn't mind her scrawl.
I heart it best.
That she took the time.
That she wrote her ache along with the ache in her wrist.
That she cared enough to write.
That she took the time to touch my heart.
Then there was the email the other day that churned my heart:
"Thank you for all the uplifting sharing that you do!"
A pouring of words and feelings and hurts and aches plucked into a hollow outlet.
Just as heartfelt. Just as brave. Just as much a part of reaching out. Just as beautiful.
And sometimes when I wonder why I write...because what I do is so small, so insignificant, so minut compared to what others do....a scrawled letter shared or an email plucked forth is sent my way and I am reminded why I write.
To touch hearts.
We have a need to touch hearts.
We have a yearning to touch hearts.
It's a God-given desire.
It's an urge connecting spiritual necessity to physical need.
God gives me this so that I can connect in a way I don't do it well otherwise.
Still...I often wonder if my voice is yet just another shout into a den of voices that no one hears.
And why should I continue if I'm just not good enough.
Without the written words I'm voiceless. Without the written word I've allowed Satan to tell me I'm voiceless. Without the type I cannot counterattack the anti-God culture that attacks my family.
Without the print I cannot leave a part of my heart for future generations to know. Without this outlet I cannot leave a part of my heart for my family to understand.
At the end of my days the words written upon my children's hearts and the words I've shared with others is my personal covenant to the God whose Word was made flesh.
It's a joining of my words to His flesh.
It's all I have to join with those larger parts of the Body who have more to give. I'm the little toe.
So for those who flesh out gratitude or correct my information or suggestion a different approach or question my resources or help me improve my words with their words and then take courage to share them with me in order to make my offering more worthy, I am grateful.
Without sharing, this is a voiceless misuse of words.
Shared it is not a clanging of voices.
It becomes a blending of hearts touching hearts.
To all of you who listen to the need to scrawl me a letter, pluck me an email, or jot me a comment.
You touch my heart each time you do.
That is the way God serves His body.