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, while the joy in your eyes melts and slides down your face, slipping like chocolate off a popsicle on a summer’s 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 to get into place.
Even with your heart at your feet and your guts in your hands, come to me then.
For if what we are doing is holy, even through your human doubts, fears, and anxiety come worship at my feet.