I get tired of rules and boundaries and even words sometimes. I know our Father is one of words, of language, of beauty and that the beginning of the world was the spoken breath come down. As a girl I often worried about doing the right thing at the right time in the right way. I studied people, their voices, their actions. Approval was paramount. It seldom mattered from where it came.

I wonder what I was worshipping then.

And here, in this blog space, where I entered in, a bit on tiptoe, a bit with my heart blazing, ready to burst, I was nervous and excited and a bit more fearless than I feel I am now. I wasn’t scared then, to share truth like I saw it. I wasn’t hesitant to not hide and unveil this girl He was showing me more of, this person He showed me He loved and wanted me to see more of, too. And now, I tiptoe a lot, feeling like words are worth nothing if the truth is not painted out straight–yet I struggle, wondering what the point of all of this is. I listen for His words and I trust them, but I don’t trust my own. I write down His breath in me, His songs, and I scrawl them out, loop by loop in ball-point onto lined journals in edges of time, the beginning of me. I don’t believe my words are worship, or a song is worship, or a moment worship unless I let my heart find Him in these places. In all places where He breathes I find my breath, too. And I give it up again, Father. I surrender all I am, knowing I have been holding back. So, pull me forward. Let me sink in deeper. Let me throw aside my heart for this world and run right back into You.