The sky cracks open and spills out grace. And in a season when the world wears black and exalts darkness, God sees fit to wash it all in white. I wrap up warm and skip the morning sessions to go and stand in wonder and be washed too.
Here I am with several hundred word weavers in a conference about writing life, serving fresh bread and laying down on the only platform Jesus ever embraced: the cross.
It is a time when revelation falls like unexpected snow.
In the midst of an event filled with meetups and business cards, I find I really am an introvert. I crave hiddenness and deep connection. One-on-one coffees fill my soul, but buzzing rooms empty me out. And. that. is. OK.
Even like a fish trying to swim in sand, stretched out, laid bare, I find permission. To be. To immerse myself in Him Who IS the Word so that my words hold and offer Who He is. I can only give what I have. I find permission to live internally even in an external world of social media and twitter strategies. To skip sessions to stand beneath a sky split open reminding me of Him Who bleaches my scarlet places in love.
In this community of shared journeys and interwoven stories, I marvel at His creativity. A room filled with daughters as unique as the frozen lace hanging in the trees around me. And tonight when all is being packed up and processed for transit, I too am chronicling the love letters from Papa’s heart to mine this weekend, ever grateful for space to see through to Him in the cracked places that pour out heaven.