Sometimes my voice fails me. I find myself grasping for the right words, and more often than not, I can't seem to find them. I get tongue tied. I loose my confidence and my voice is nothing but a whisper.

Finding the right words is hard, and having the confidence to speak those words is even more difficult. So, when my confidence wavers, I find myself a piece of paper and a pen. I scribble my thoughts on something that is only mine. I write not because I want the recognition or praise, but rather, I write because it's comforting. I find comfort in the strokes of a pen a crossed a blank sheet of paper.

Ever since I can remember, I've always been more capably of sharing my feeling after they've been dissected on a piece of paper. It's not just a hobby for me. But rather, writing is a passion. When I pick up a piece of paper and find myself a pen, I can't help but feel safe.

I write because it gives me a place to "speak" without a "million" eyes staring back at me. I write because it is a constant. When this world gets crazy and I feel defeated, the words written upon my heart are scattered a crossed the pages within a journal. The pages hold moments of joy, sadness, and celebration. But most importantly, the worn and tattered pages hold parts of me that I'm to afraid to share with others.

I write not for attention or another's admiration, but rather, I write for myself. I write because it gives me a voice that I sometimes lack. I write because God has given me this gift. He has given me this passion and I can't help but feel His love surrounding me whenever I've got a pen and paper in hand.

I sit here and flip through an empty journal. I feel a sense of joy and excitement. The pages do not frighten me. But rather, the blank pages beckon me to fill them. So, I sit and place the first word upon this blank page. One word turns into a sentence and a sentence turns into a paragraph, and the rest is history.