Sometimes my journal entries look identical to each other. I usually write as a prayer, so I’ll start with the words “Good morning God..” and thank him for the day, for life, for his presence and for my loving husband and kids. Then I’ll write about my present state, which, since mornings are the most difficult for pain, usually starts with, “Pain is high this morning Lord, I’m not sure how this day is going to be ….” and on and on.

It’s my discipline, my habit, my practice of acknowledging the Creator of this world, of me, of my crazy, chronically ill body and of my day. Julia Cameron, in her book The Right to Write, describes writing three pages in the morning, calls them “morning pages” and this is very similar to that idea. After about three full pages of writing, usually a deeper joy or fear or question emerges and that is what I can examine further. I write to know what I think, how I feel.

But, yesterday, words felt broken. Nothing worked. Parts felt like they were missing or the wrong size. I couldn’t find them, like a tape measure. Words were broken.

So I borrowed some.

My husband is an artist and before the paintings get shipped to the galleries, they sit on the floor, leaning up against the wall or hanging on the wall for a final look. The one that is now about to be shipped away is of the West Coast of Canada and it is a small, rock island with trees on top and crashing waves all around it. I’ve been laying on the couch, resting and enjoying it’s view.

So I tried to enter the scene, became the rock and wrote this from the voice of the waves:

“I have crushed you, but you are not broken.

Edges are smooth, and nothing is wrong.

It’s your stillness in the tension

that makes you so strong.”

Somehow, this helped me process how I was feeling and a new wave of courage was found.

Do you have words today? Do they work or feel broken? If so, try borrowing from something else to express or explore what is deeper in your heart and mind.

Peace.