I’m not sure this will matter.

But if it helps me—or someone else—remember...

it’s worth it.

I didn’t mean to stop creating.

It happened the way most losses do—quietly, without ceremony.

One day blurred into the next.

Too many good intentions. Too many late nights.

Too many yeses to things that never made space for me.

There was self-care.

And ministry.

And the kind of worship that looks full on the outside.

It helped—for a while.

Until it didn’t. I kept trying to fix it.

• Habit-stacking.

• Morning devotions.

• Accountability partners.

• Fresh notebooks.

• My “why,” taped beside the calendar.

As if clarity could carry what my spirit no longer could.

But clarity was never the problem.

What I needed—what I didn’t know how to ask for—was space. Not space to produce.

Space to breathe.

To listen.

To be with God in a way that didn’t require me to perform.

I think… creativity isn’t something I have to earn.

And neither is presence.

Maybe they were never meant to be separate. (Gen 1:1–2)

Maybe they’re part of the same breath.

Something I can return to.

Both of them.

And so this journal…it’s not a testimony.

Not a guidebook. Not even a plan.

It’s just fragments.

Pieces of what happened when I finally stopped chasing and started listening.

Maybe I’ll discover something in the pieces.

Maybe you will too.

If you’re holding this now…maybe it’s your turn to remember.