Lately, there has been much on my mind. There has been much sorrow that I have been made aware of. There have been many attempts at articulating the noise in my brain.
But that's just it - it feels like noise. There isn't a melody or even a honking car. It sounds similar to the white-noise machine that helps our family sleep. Static. Nothing so clear as to know what it is, but still dull and loud enough to drown out most else.
Through this chaotic roar, I have found the overwhelming desire to create - to give words or ideas to this noise - to bring some kind of order to it. I've written. I've dabbled with paint. I've sung. I've baked. Nothing was really tuning the static.
Yesterday, I started a new book. It's called 'A Different Kind of Perfect". It brought such a startling clarity that I found that if I really engaged with what I was reading tears wouldn't stop streaming down my face. It was crazy, instead of trying to articulate myself, this book gave a crystal clear voice.
Originally, when I was handed the book, I kind of brushed it off. It was touted as something that 'might, potentially, COULD be helpful.' Ha. So far, it has been excellent. It is real stories of families with kids who are a-typical mixed in with psychological explanations and personal experiences from the author.
The dull roar is lessening - it's becoming more of a fog, but that just might be due to lack of sleep and running out of coffee beans :)
xo,
J
soli deo gloria
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