Therapeutic Writing

“Whenever you are fed up with life, start writing: ink is the great cure for all human ills, as I have found out long ago.”—C. S. Lewis

I have been writing off and on since high school.  There were times when words would flow effortlessly and times when they were nonexistent.  I always looked at it as a hobby, something to share with others if I felt like it, or to keep to my self if needed.  I never really looked at it as a cure until the passing of Evan.  Writing has helped me express my feelings of sorrow and grief.  Pen and paper became my counselors.  It was much easier for me to divulge the feelings inside in ink than it was for me to actually speak about them openly to others.  Sure, there were some friends that I was able to openly share with, but still and all, the most open and receptive ear was that white lined marble notebook.  I could bare all and open my heart and soul freely.  I was able to scribble down and jot ideas, thoughts and feelings as incoherently as I wanted.  This allowed me to choose the correct words and express exactly what I was trying to say.  I could make amendments to what was written, or rearrange the lineup so that ideas and statements would flow properly and make sense, as opposed to the jumbled, mumbled, mashed up scramble that make up spoken words when one may be under the stress of everyday life and the situations it brings upon us.

My inspirations came in many forms over the years.  Love, nature, vampires, experience, searching, death, faith, and God.  Some writings were part of word challenges, photo challenges, forms of poetry challenges, or topical challenges.  Some were poems about poetry, poets, or even about writer’s block.  These many topics have all had a hand in shaping me and preparing me for what I now write about, which is, the message I hope to get across to you, the readers.  The years that are beneath me have been the tune-up to find my voice, or should I say, the fountain for my quill.

My ability to convey through writing far outweighs my ability to speak publicly (something I prefer not to partake in).  All this time, God has been preparing me, though I did not know it , and only after recent events am I becoming more aware of what He is calling me to do.  I do believe I have been called to spread the Word and Love of our Lord to all that I can, based on all that I have been made aware of and have witnessed since Evan’s death.  My prayers are that all who come to read what I share, do so with and open mind and heart so that the Holy Spirit may fill them and open their eyes to our Lord.

In closing, yes, ink has become a cure of sorts.  I guess you could even say that I have been getting immunized in the past by writing.  It has allowed me to open up and share with others, the inspirations that have been given to me by the Holy Spirit.  It has allowed me to get through the grief and depression I was suffering from and accept the death of my precious son.  It has become the therapy which, I pray, will enable me to see him once again with our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ some day.  It will help me to continue Evan’s mission of spreading the word of God and trying to live out the rest of my days for His Greater Glory.

In His Name Always,

You are in my prayers,

Scott

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