I have this sweet picture in my mind.

Of my dad, returning to this web address every day, hopeful…and then disappointed, because I haven’t written a new post that carries a bit of his daughter back to where he is. He’s been looking forward to my writing, if my mum’s description is correct.

Knowing that, I just want to smile…and smile…and smile…and smile…and smile.

I think it’s a season where I want to write less though.

A lot of what a person writes flows from who she is, what she is, how she is. Words bless and curse, and sometimes even change perceptions of truth. They’re not meant to show off what you know, or how well you can string them together. They’re a beautiful kind of music you learn to respect.

You also learn not to take foolish pride when you are harshly banging the piano keys, happy because you can play your exam piece at 200 crotchets per minute. You learn that you must play your song. And to play it, you must first do everything you can to find it, suss out its heartbeat and its unique feel.

Over the months, it’s become clearer to me what I came to Adelaide to do.

I did not come to spread my wings and chase after changing winds. I did not come for the opportunities–although they come by so abundantly. I am here to grow deeper roots, to establish my heart and purpose, to strengthen my soul, and to sit at his feet. I can’t do anything else without deeper roots, the dismal tree just won’t grow.

When I think of that, oh, how words can wait. They can wait a million years. Words will always be there, but time slips past your fingers like sand.