I miss writing. The kind of writing that formed Involuntary Joy.
I miss the quietness of thought. The laid-bare, emotional examination and gut-wrenching introspection that demand honesty...and communion. It's probably the communion I miss most--an irreplaceable kind of alone time with the divine.
I feel things beginning to perk inside again. The kind of things that bubble forth as revealing words of witness to a life that few know of firsthand.
So I'll welcome these things as they flow. And I'll keep them close, pondering their wonder in my heart. Someday soon they'll shape what comes next.