• Dana L. Butler

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My alarm goes off at 5:45 AM and I reset it for 20 minutes later. Not that that extra blip of sleep will make a difference for me — but in the moment it sure feels like it will.

So at 6:05 I am I drag myself out of bed, throw on thick, fuzzy socks, and make my way down the dark staircase of our 120 year old house. Before my feed have hit the main floor, I catch this one line of a song rolling around in my head, in my heart, “And you have ravished my heart, my sister, my bride, with one glance of your eye.”

I’ve pulled out worship songs lately that I haven’t listened to in years. Songs that remind me of the days He first captivated my heart, my attention, my affection. I’ve needed them.

See, it’s been a week, y’all. A week. Between a constipated toddler and my “creatively constipated” heart and mind, there’s been a whole lotta “stopped-up-ness” goin’ on in my world.

So this morning I come downstairs, grab a mug of coffee leftover from yesterday and throw it in the microwave [Yes. I frequently microwave my coffee. I know. You’re grimacing right now. Or you’re smirking because you do it too. ;)] and I eye my laptop warily.

Helloooo, old friend. Do I dare pick you up this morning? Do I dare try to craft sentences and thoughts, to mine for gold while it’s still dark and my household sleeps? I know the gold’s in there somewhere, way down deep, and I find myself hoping to excavate it this morning by way of computer keys and bright screen.

But I’m almost afraid to try.

This week, y’all, the voice of my inner critic has been loud. This week, I’ve questioned whether I should in fact be writing. At all. I’ve questioned the purpose of all my banging away at keys and sharing blog posts. I’ve questioned whether my heart’s in a place where I should be sharing its contents.

Do you know that it took me probably 10 minutes to write the last 3 sentences? I’m stuck. Or I feel that way. When I try to create right now my brain turns to mushy, cloudy fog and clarity flies out the win

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