I wonder if writers are like musicians, who feel like they should be doing what they love when the New Year comes in. I’m looking at the calendar and feeling compelled to write; to document the year ending and the start to a new.

I find it necessary to make note of my heart and soul at this off ramp. It’s sort of like checking the gas gauge, mileage and scrolling through the GPS to see what’s on tap for the next leg of the journey. Maybe it’s a good time to step outside of myself and look back down the road. I’ve been there; I’ve done that.

I did a lot of living and a lot of writing in 2016. I had a lot to say, even when I didn’t. I tried to gather all of my writing and make it a book.

In essence, I opened my overstuffed closet, expecting to select the best “strut your stuff” outfits. Only to discover that many pieces had lost their shape, faded, incredibly dated or were just simply ugly. Instead of a trunk or even s suitcase full, I found myself with a few loosely pulled together outfits. Moreover, I felt like even if I ironed out the wrinkles, sewed on a button or snipped a lose thread; the pieces I selected had no defining style or relevance.

So, 2016 was my reality check. My year to ask myself, what does my writing really mean? Humbling myself to say to the Lord, “okay, no conditions.” God’s reply, “keep walking; keep writing.”

As I stand on the side of the road, a few miles away from 2017, I don’t want to know where I’m heading. I think I want to just want to continue on my journey, letting God lead the way. Come what may, I want to write with my eyes closed. I will allow my blind faith to lead me to the promise of purpose. I trust in the promise because I know that my gifts are for His Glory.

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