It’s all coming at me like a flood this morning.

Whitney Houston’s “Greatest Love Of All,” the song I loved at age 10, came on the radio. As a young girl, I’d sing it at the top of my lungs. If I didn’t already know I was in love with music and singing by that point, I fell in love with them through that song.

In studio, May 2014

And then there’s the memory of talking with a prominent music publisher a little over a year ago who saw something…enough…in my song that he pulled me aside and spent a little time talking with me about how to be a better songwriter. It sounds small and insignificant, but that doesn’t always happen.

So many little memories. And a single thread of hope still dangles in my face, though this dream feels stagnant and nearly dead. I’ve given up more times than I can count. I’m barely hanging on yet again and wondering what it all means.

I’ve heard and read so many Christian cliches that I want to bang my head against a wall. Instead, I weep and wonder if any of it is even real. Is He fighting for me? Is He ever going to open doors? I alternate between waiting on Him and wondering if it’s all a sham.

The lyrics flow faster these days, so I write them down and tuck them away. The singing has ceased, and the quiet of my own voice is deafening.

Yes, I’m in a flood. And I’m drowning…