If Words Were Medicine

I use writing as a way to heal and to maintain sanity. Writing is an outlet which allows me to sort through the half formed thoughts in my head and decipher how it applies to my life or even just figuring out what emotions are coursing through my brain. The lessons I learn, I need to log, otherwise I quickly forget that which took me so long to learn.




Writing brings me close to the Lord and helps me discover His greatness more and more. I learn His word and His story through writing about it, I grow closer to His heart this way. I gain the most minimal insight into the greatest wonder of the world. Through words on paper I can almost begin to describe the awe of the one who saved my life and continues to give me life.

So many times all that I have to offer are words. Words that are at times promises or condolences, insults, jokes, and occasionally a little wisdom slips out (where does that come from?). Sometimes words are all I have. When lives are shaken, when joy is overwhelming, sometimes all I can offer is a mumble or mutter and other times a grunt is all that there is. At times I feel like the only armor I have to go out into the world are the words which I have spent my whole life learning and perfecting. And at times words are the only medicine I have. Medicine to heal my own wounds, medicine to give to others. Medicine that I wish would clean and mend. But these medicinal words do not alleviate a broken heart, resentment, these words that I have cannot nourish and replenish. But these are the words that I have to offer up. If my words were medicine I don't know if I could heal, if I could hurt. But isn't that such a beautiful concept? If words were medicine? But even if I can't pour my sentences onto a burn to soothe, I can use my words to placate the wars within my life. And even if my words can't bond tightly to my skin to provide support, my words are a gift. A gift and a medicine that I treasure. That I keep here. Like a diary. Like a medical journal.

And even if my words don't serve, those of my Father, my Creator do. Does that even make sense? Can I even understand what that means. That the words of my Father have literally healed the flesh. These words are my treasure. But they are too much for me to understand. They transcend me. These are the words that have moved me, the words that I will continue to seek healing from. The words that I keep here. To remember. To remind. That I never forget that even if my words aren't medicine, His words are.




These are my thoughts, this is my life, this is my journey with the one who loves me with His entire being, and how great that is.