It was almost three years ago. I think that's when it started to happen. I could feel my pursuit for the written word shift and morph into something different, something not necessarily of holy intention. I had been fifteen weeks pregnant with my second baby and with all the encouragement from my husband, I took off to a women's conference in Indianapolis. Not only was I going to be meeting my future best friend, but I was also getting three straight days to rub elbows with some of the most creative women in the blogging/writing/entrepreneur world. I walked into our first initial meeting together nervous and energetic. I loved writing. I loved sitting down with God and combining my experiences with His truth. I loved seeing my testimony woven into words and sentences - permanently residing on a brightly lit screen. Every time I wrote, I felt as if I was erecting an Ebenezer. I felt as if I was declaring His goodness from the mountaintops. If not for anyone else; at least for me. It didn't matter if anyone saw, or even if anyone cared. I wrote for the love of it. I wrote for the love of Him.
I was thrilled that I would be meeting other women who did what they did for the love of it, too. For the love of Him, too.
The shift in my heart and my words didn't begin immediately after that conference, but it was there that something definitely came undone in me.