Searching for your story

When you are stuck, you desire a place of creative inspiration. A place filled with overwhelming creativity. A desk overlooking a garden filled with bright colored poppies. A quaint coffee shop on the corner between Central and Eighth. A room where rustic wood lines the walls, covered in vintage black and white photographs.

Photographs of stories. The wrinkled hands of a Navajo woman. The portrait of a flapper girl from the twenties. A "in the moment" snapshot of a young girl wrapped in the beauty of the ocean, searching.
How often we search. We search for meaning, words, stories, lives. We search for people, spouses, children. We search for meaning greater than our own. For faith.
We search.
Now I search for the words to type because I am stuck. I am stuck without words. My writing has halted, stalled.

In one month I will search for adventure. I will wander the mountains, the open field, the mighty big sky. I will search the sky for faith. I will stand arms open. Listening.
Listening for the words I seek. Standing in the purple field of love, from the handiwork of a Creator who loves me. Even in the weeks I fail to bow my head and whisper up a silent prayer. The days I fail to acknowledge a might greater than mine. He loves me.

I am tired of searching. Aren't we all. We see the photographs lining the wall and think they won in their search. Yet the Navajo woman searched for a place to call home as her land was swept out from beneath her. As her culture, her language was torn away from her in rooms boarded with rules. Searching for HER story in the midst of it all. The twenties flapper searched for beauty, for love. She threw herself at the word, searching for acceptance. The young girl at the ocean searched for a stone, a shell. For a smile and a hope.

Add your photograph to the wall. Will you be bent over a typewriter searching for a story. Huddled over a cup of tea searching for the words to say. The life to live. Here is a hint: stop searching for your story and start living it.