If writing is holy ground, come walk with me through the fodder of your imagination.
Come bear with me through the pins and needles that dig into your sleeping confidence.
Come smile at me even if your resolve is dissolving into pieces, and the joy in your eyes melts and slides down your face, slipping like chocolate off a popsicle on a hot day.
Come join me even when it feels like your insides are churning, like all of your internal organs are playing musical chairs, jostling and shoving one another to get into place.
Even with your heart at your feet and your guts in your hands, come walk with me then.
For if what we are doing is holy, then nothing, not even your human doubts, fears or anxiety can stop me.
Trust me, you’ll see. I’ll guide you if you let me, if only you will let me, let me, let me.