I lived in Tucson for several years. There, life is pretty much a constant drought except for monsoon season. In the monsoon season, the rain comes in fast and falls hard, the floods rush in, and then they slowly dissipate.
One Saturday afternoon during monsoon season, I hiked with a friend from work. He was extremely familiar with the Catalina Mountains and hiking in the desert, so naturally, it was easy to trust him. We both knew a monsoon was inevitable because of the season, but we anticipated it taking longer to hit the mountain we were on.
This particular trail was not what I was accustomed to; instead of dirt and sand, it consisted of flat, smooth rocks…at least in the area where we were when the rains hit. We were on our way down, as we had seen the dark clouds getting closer very quickly, but we were still too late. It became dangerous to descend in the rain because the rocks were incredibly slippery, but staying atop a mountain when there was lightning also posed a risk. We decided to stay and sought shelter in a nook created by some fallen rock until the monsoon passed and it was safe(r) to descend.
On another Saturday, this time in the morning, we tackled another peak. It was June, which, in Arizona, means the dry heat is extreme. I always brought water with me, but this day I didn’t bring enough. The challenge that particular peak presented combined with my lack of water resulted in an inability to perform as I normally would, both physically and mentally. I was dizzy, disoriented, and weak. The only thing that got me through that hike was knowing we had more water in the car.
Much like we experience the drought and flooding of the desert and their respective effects, we can experience the drought and flooding of Truth. We writers refer to the drought as “writer’s block.” It is our arch nemesis and is certainly something I have experienced. In the past, it has frustrated me greatly, mostly because I put undue pressure on myself to meet deadlines, follow a certain structure, or perform a certain way.
I realized today that I have not experienced writer’s block since committing to this project. In fact, today I was in a monsoon of revelation; within a seventy-five-minute timespan, five vastly different messages were delivered to my heart. In contrast, I have vivid memories of late nights in front of my iMac, pleading with myself to produce something in the midst of a photojournalism project. It is hard to believe the woman in front of the keyboard then is the same one that could hardly stop writing today.
Certainly, I am not immune to writer’s block just because I am a few years older than the last time it plagued me. In fact, I would venture to say that the weeks I spent avoiding this project could count as writer’s block. What I have come to realize is that writers don’t knowingly prevent the flow of truth; none of us desire to be incapable of expressing the deep longings of our hearts. Yet because we are human it will inevitably happen, and because it is inevitable we have to learn to work with it as it comes.
As such, I embrace the flood of Truth when it pours as I embraced the monsoon rains that day, and I wait expectantly through the drought as I anticipated its end - and the water that awaited me - once before.