We Need Whitespace to Create

File_000-2The responsibilities keep piling on. The calendar gets filled up with more events. We’re moving from one thing to another with barely a moment to breathe. I run the family around from home to church, on errands, on playdates, to Target and back. Everything is always rushed. My temper is short, and my patience is never in stock. Everyone peeves me. I’m not myself anymore. I become only the things I do- the roles I play- and it’s suffocating me.

Writing is the first thing to go when I get busy. It’s hard to justify creative work when there’s laundry to be done, when the kids need attention, when someone at church has to be ministered to. “It’s just a hobby,” I tell myself. “It’s not important” or “It’s not as important as…” The lies start to pour in and make more sense than all the true things I’ve felt in my gut about my gift with words…

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