What Else Is There to Say? - Elisabeth Klein
I read some powerful words in my inbox this morning from a blog reader whom I’ve never met:

“I am one who…usually even before opening up my inbox to search patiently for communication from friends, wonders, sometimes aloud, ‘What does Elisabeth have to say today?’  Your silence matters.  And I am so grateful you put into words in the midst of the anguish, what most can barely face, never mind verbalize, in the privacy of our empty bedrooms.”

I am so grateful for the readers of this blog, of my column, of my articles, of my books. I am so grateful that anyone reads my words, than anyone cares when I do, that anyone notices when I don’t. I have been using writing as my personal therapy along with huge doses of redemption as I attempt to hand out comfort to women just like me from the overflow of comfort I have received from God and from my sweet support system.

But I am finding myself wordless lately. Well, at the very least, without new words. Without words of comfort. Without words of help and hope.

And it’s not because I’m feeling hopeless right now, by any means, but I’m in this middle place. A little more beat up than I thought I’d feel at this point. A waiting season. It sort of feels like this:

The old is gone.

Then there’s me, now. With my quietness and the sadnesses and the mourning.

And then there’s the new that is coming but isn’t quite here yet.

I am in a wordless place right now. I am getting up every morning after fitful sleep. I am going for a bike ride and spending time with Jesus. I am doing laundry. I am going to the store. I am getting my kids ready for school to start soon. I am reading. I am spending time with friends. I am walking my dog. I am simply doing the work of living my life as I wait for something to happen. For feelings to begin shifting and waning. For new words to rise up in me. 

 

In the meantime, I will be working on some old words. I have written two books and these next few months, I predict, will be revisiting those words and moving them around and finding better ones. I will nod in remembrance of feeling the feeling I felt when I first wrote those words. I will probably cry when I recall feeling such fear and confusion and sadness in my old life. And I will hopefully be amazed at times that God took such pain and is working on turning it into something that will hopefully help and comfort women who are hurting just like I was, just like I still sort of am.

So that’s where I am today. Quiet. Waiting. Moving forward, albeit slowly. And, in really good moments, expectant for what’s to come.

If this post encouraged you, you would benefit from “Unraveling: Hanging onto Faith through the End of a Christian Marriage”, found here or “Living through Divorce as a Christian Woman”, found here.