Riding It Out. Writing It Out.

Wrestling with God, One Word at a Time

I don't have all the answers––

just a storm I'm trying to sail through

and a journal that knows more about my heart than I care to admit.

God and I––

we've been wrestling.

Not with air fists,

but with silence,

with surrender,

with ache of not knowing

and faith to stay anyway.

Some days, I ride it out––

hands off the wheel,

eyes squinted at the horizon,

hoping this isn't where the story ends.

Other days, I write it out––

pouring pain into poem,

questions into quiet prayers,

longings into lines that feel more honest than I know

how to say out loud.

This is how I fight:

not with noise,

but with nuance.

Not with answers,

but with a pen dipped in doubt an devotion.

So if you see me quiet––

know I'm not giving up.

I'm just letting the page hold

what my mouth can't.

Because I'm still here.

Still showing up.

Still wrestling with God...

on word at a time.