I didn't give up....

It's not a matter of giving up.
I haven't given up.
I've not disappeared; I've not walked away from a purpose that has clearly been established.
It's no longer a question of what, or how, or why.....
The question I ask is "When?"
When is it time?
When will I be released to pour out the truth, and the wisdom, and the reality of what this journey has established within me?

When will I have the strength to withhold what should only belong to me, and display what's meant for sharing.

Offering insight into this unspoken journey while maintaining respective  anonymity.

Oh, the writers that have struggled with the emotional turmoil of who "we" are;  creatively analytical, imaginative, thoughtfully curious..... processors of every thought and possible thought of whomever we interactively relate to.

Art is an outlet; capable of releasing the internal pressure.
Songwriters, novelist, sketchers and painters and musicians alike pull from our emotionally overflowing bank, as we direct that overflow into creation.

We're lucky.
And so unlucky.

It has to go somewhere.

This season is akin to an artist that has had his brushes and his paint confiscated.
His freedom to express has been paused.

I've not given up.
I'm on pause.
Waiting to hear from The Lord; waiting..../
Just waiting for freedom.