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I've been through many dark periods in my life.

There was the darkness that was the first 21 years of my life.
Punctuated by the torch lights of happy childhood moments, the blackness nevertheless was the darkest it would ever be. It was my Before.

There was the darkness that was my battle with panic disorder.
This shadowy time was different than before, because though the pain was real, I was carried through it by the One I knew would never let me fall.

There was the darkness that was the beginning years of my fight for my son.
There is a scene in the Neverending Story where Bastian and the princess sit in complete blackness, save for the one remaining grain of sand that sits in the princess' hand. That light lit the area between their faces, a warm glow that radiated between them. This was how I fought for Joseph in the first few months. Alone in my battle, everyone around me faded from my view. I lived as if I was sitting face to face with God, the Light emanating from His hand being His promise of hope and a future.

Years passed, and the darkness was a memory, a shadow I kept far from within my reach.

Then there came a new darkness.

My words began as His. Every blog entry I wrote was written with the knowledge that the words were not from me.

Then pride crept in. And oh, the blackness that it carries with it.

And I knew. I stared at it and I knew what it was. And the Holy Spirit within me demanded that I deal with it.

But pride is intoxicating, and the words I prayed for God to take it from me were empty.

So when I stopped acknowledging that the words were His, He solved the problem for me.

He took the words away.

Daily I stared at a blank computer screen. The ideas that had tumbled through me like water were now still and lifeless.

Aimee's birthday passed and I tried to sit down and tell the story of the miracle that God blessed us with when He created her. The story was burning within me, but the words wouldn't come. Time after time I closed out the window and walked away.

January came to a close. February began with its cold winds and glistening snow. One day I noticed that I had stopped trying to create stories in my head.

Two days ago, thinking about the glory of God and His amazing grace in my life, I realized that ideas were flowing unbridled through my mind.

When I let go of them, He gave them back.

In the NeverEnding Story, Bastian had to take that little grain of sand and recreate Fantasia through his own wishes and dreams. In our world, wishes and dreams come true when we acknowledge that we are not the Creator.

It isn't to be about us.

We are to be for Him.