The Ink Beneath the Edits

Even after the erasing, the first draft still bleeds through.

DAY 5 — The Ink Beneath the Edits
Even after the erasing, the first draft still bleeds through.
Prompt:
What have you kept trying to outgrow, bury, or evolve past — only to find it’s still shaping what you do?

---

Years ago, at the very beginning of my faith journey, I went on a Christian men’s retreat expecting to be handed some kind of spiritual job description.
I was maybe three months in, still figuring out how to pray without sounding like I was writing a bad poem.

But I went with the full expectation that I’d walk away with a title.
My calling.
My sword.

Hilarious, right?

After a long day of intense teaching and personal revelation, I found myself sitting in a hot tub with a group of men, sharing our hearts.
A stranger I had never met came up to me, hesitated, and said he felt like God wanted him to share something about my spiritual gifting.

I perked up.
This was the moment.
The big reveal.

He looked at me sincerely and said:
“Your spiritual gift is Encouragement.”

And that was it.
Encouragement?

It hit like a wet noodle on a soggy pancake.
I didn’t say anything, but inside I was thinking:
Really? That’s the gift?
I wanted something with danger and grit.
I wanted to be a warrior —
not a cheerleader.

For years, I tabled the thought.
I didn’t reject it outright.
I just quietly filed it under “maybe it’ll make sense someday,”
and kept chasing other things — shiny, strong, impressive things.

Encouragement didn’t feel central.
It didn’t feel sacred.
It didn't feel like me.

But here’s the thing:

The gift grew in me anyway.

It wove itself into how I showed up —
in one-liner texts,
in hallway moments,
in offhand comments that turned out to matter more than I expected.

Not the “You’ve got this!” kind of encouragement.
Not cheerleading.
Something quieter.
Something truer.

And it wasn’t until maybe two months ago — no exaggeration —
that I saw it clearly for what it was.

I was doing a journaling exercise, trying to name the mission behind my work —
my writing, my book, everything I’ve been building.

The prompt was to name it in one word.
So I did.

Encouragement.

Immediately I was overcome with a wash of knowing,
a breath of revelation:

That’s it.
That’s what I’ve been doing all along.
I just didn’t get it.

There have been moments — more than I can count — when I almost stayed silent.
I figured someone else would say it better.
Or that my input wasn’t really needed.

But something in me pressed forward —
just a few words.
Not grand.
Not polished.
Just… true.

Not “You’ve got this.”
More like:
“I see you.
I know how hard that was.
And what you did — and what you're still doing — matters.”

It’s not about inspiration.
It’s about recognition.

Not the kind that stirs a crowd —
but the kind that steadies a soul.
The kind that reminds someone who they are,
before they even realize they’ve forgotten.

That’s the real meaning of encouragement:
not hype, breath.
Not noise, presence.

When the words land, there is always this moment —
a shift in the eyes,
a spark in the spirit,
like something heavy just got put down,
and something holy picked back up.

That’s when I know it’s real.
That it mattered.
That it was worth it — all of it.

It's what I’m here for.

Encouragement isn’t just what I do.
It’s the current I move in — whether I mean to or not.

It’s what stirs to life in me when I sense someone slipping —
losing their footing,
their vision,
their sense of who, or why they are.

It is the ink that keeps bleeding through every edit —reminding me that what I once called soft
was actually sacred.

And it was always me.

---

This post is part 5 of 7 of The Voice Between the Lines —
a 7-day return to your Sacred Story.

You can start at Day 1 or jump in wherever the whisper finds you.

🌀 Following along?
Subscribe to stay with the journey — and feel free to share your own reflections in the comments.