“When I sit down to write, sometimes I don’t really know what I’m going to say. I start anyway, and almost inevitably the words start coming and I have to try to keep up with them. As I write, I wonder about the woman who might be encouraged by my words — who may find just a small bit of hope in them. I wonder how they will bless her; I hope that they will reach her. And that is why it is especially humbling to realize that the message is actually meant for me.”
I've made charges to myself, said it out loud and written it a multitude of times that I will be a regular blogger. Ideally, the type that gets published and makes a real name for herself outside of her home. And, in a perfect world where time doesn't exist I would do just that with much satisfaction. But the thing is that my children -- my two beautiful daughters grown in two other beautiful womans' wombs -- make eye contact with me on the daily reminding me just how young they are and just how old they are in the exact same instance and every time all computers close and pens drop with resolve. And I'll tell them one day when they find all of my unfinished projects that every time I left something undone -- an article unwritten or a to-do item unchecked -- it was because I chose them.
Maybe it's just how I've found peace so that my type-A self doesn't lose my mind, but I've chosen a life that celebrates unfinished works. I figure I've been given one chance at living a life well lived and one chance at raising up two women and when my time is done if all that is left undone is a slew of unpublished blog posts, an absence from social media and a messy home than I've chosen a life I can be proud of.
And in the interim... when God, out of his kindness, creates a space for me to clear my mind I love to write and the message I often am writing is for me. Because I often don't know exactly what it is I'm thinking, feeling or needing to read until I can see it in my own words written.