(image by ricardodiaz11)
Sometimes writing feels like parting the Red Sea. Or, maybe more accurately, it feels like walking through a parted sea. It’s a long, scary process, and about halfway through, I always want to turn around. Who was I to think this was possible? That I could do this? That there’s something on the other side? And the walls of sea – can you imagine, walls made of water? – could come crashing down at any moment, a force that would sweep away anything in its path.
Maybe it’s not writing for you, but there’s something, I know. That place where you come to the edge over and over, but have no strength to cross. But eventually some kind of other-worldly determination sneaks up and pushes you, and there, you’ve made your first step.
We could walk together, hold one another’s hands. We could remind each other that we’ll gain courage as we cross, and that the One who made the sea is the one holding up the walls around us, and He calls us to the other side.