Here’s the thing – for the past few months, I’ve felt nothing like a writer. I don’t even want to type that sentence because somewhere in my head, there’s a voice that says I should be embarrassed to even think about being a writer.

Here’s the other thing – I spend my days staring at a computer screen, pumping out  Facebook posts and tweets like a mini social media factory. That’s all the writing I’ve done lately. Mind you, I think about stories all the time – while getting ready in the morning, driving to work, driving home from work. The words, they twirl in my head, and together we practice our dance for you, but then I get home… and nothing comes. The writing feels unnatural, heavy and clunky.

Here’s the last thing – every day, after staring at a computer for 8 hours, I leave the office just as the sun is starting to set. I drive north and slowly turn west towards home, staring out the windshield and allowing my eyes adjust to the real world. The sun waves its last bits of magic across the sky in brilliant color and I will myself to wake up and look up at the display.

I was thinking about these three facts things last week, wondering if my words and stories matter. If I should keep fighting to climb over the barricades of a full schedule, distractions and doubts to fight for the words and stories to come out and play. Does it really make a difference? I asked myself.

But then I remembered David and all the songs he wrote for the Lord – personal thoughts and prayers and conversations that they shared. Those most definitely make a difference to me. And then I looked up – and all of a sudden, it came back to me.

I don’t know how I forgot it, but honestly, I had –

the dream of  people’s stories and God’s story too. How I forgot something that rests in the deepest part of my heart, that fills my eyes with tears anytime I let myself stop and really think about it, that feels so solid and God-given, that I lay awake thinking about, afraid that it won’t really ever happen – how I forget all that these past few months, I have no idea.

I want people to know that they are important and that they have so much to give and that their lives – whatever the components – are incredible stories that others can learn from,  need to learn from. I want them to know that they are valued and that God loves them in the kindest, strongest, deepest, greatest way.

Somewhere among the full days and short, social stories I stopped seeing that brilliant dream, but  it’s back, spreading across the sky up above. The fear and doubt I have to wrangle are enough to tell me it matters. And you, whoever you are, believe this now: your words matter too.  And so do the other talents that reside in your hands and heart and head. Whatever it is that you’ re fighting to do – don’t stop and whatever you do, don’t forget to look up.