I am uncertain as to how much handwriting I did prior to COVID, but it appears as though I didn’t do any. Even when others couldn’t understand my “unique” script, I could. I mean, my handwriting was definitely something yet to be desired, but now I cannot even read my own handwriting. It looks like what we used to call, “scribble scrabble.” I have no clue as to where the context emerged, but to be sure, its global meaning suggests something that is unbeknownst. Typically, the author of the scribble scrabble also serves as interpreter, but there are times in our lives by which we as the author can’t even make sense of what we manufactured. Further, we may find ourselves navigating territory as unfamiliar as our constructed “writing on the wall.” What does one do when they are unable to discern, dissect, dismantle, discover that which they have designed? The Word of the Lord tells us in I Corinthians 14:33 that “God is not a God of disorder but of peace, as in all the meetings of God’s holy people;” yet that does not mean that God will not allow a little bit of scribble scrabble in your life.

The last few weeks for me were most assuredly unrecognizable. Interestingly enough, the chaos erupted hours after prophesy was spoken over me regarding my household. Everyone associated within my household experienced physical and spiritual attack. For me it was all very surreal – and yet I am grateful to have matured enough in God that I clung to the promise as opposed to the perception. That was not easy. I felt as though nothing around me made sense. I even experienced confusion on my job, in a manner that was as peculiar as my handwriting. When circumstances are uncanny, it is a prime time for us to look to God who is timeless, familiar and within reach. Through prayer, worship, lots of tears, and with the support of my tribe, I was able to remain focused in Him and believe for all that was and is to come.

Have you ever witnessed a child writing? To you, it appears to be scribble scrabble. To them, they are able to articulate the curves, curls and crossings into meaning. They make note of each intersection with imagination, intentionality and intellect. Just like God. Our lives, our experiences, our trials and trouble appear as scribble scrabble to us – it simply does not rise to the level of significance, and yet there God is, interpreting, interceding and intervening for our good. It may not make sense to us – but it surely makes sense to God. The beautiful thing about children is just because it doesn’t make sense to others doesn’t make them stop mastering and perfecting their creation. Sometimes God allows a little scribble scrabble, and other times, we have orchestrated it ourselves. Nevertheless, what if God is imploring us to keep going, keep moving, keep pressing, even though none of what we are “going, moving and pressing” is clear? Can we stand the messy in the space between when pen was put to paper and the masterpiece on display of the door of the refrigerator, or in our office, through our worship or on the heart of God? What if God simply wants us to trust the process despite the penmanship?