On writing...

I want to tell the truth in this space.

I love to write, but choke on the word writer.

It seems like a club that I hang on the edge of, but I'm not invited in.

When I wrote the story of my relationship with my dad,

wrote it out, prayed over it, edited it,
wrote, prayed, edited,

felt like I had obeyed God and done my best,

then finally submitted it to the magazine,

and all I got back was an acknowledgement with an ad for "self-publishing" a book,

it made me wonder if my voice is just too plain me.

Then I thought, maybe I should pursue making the stories I tell my grandkids into a book,

and if all I ever wrote was a story for children that would be ok.

More than ok.

That would be wonderful.

I want to tell the truth in this place.

I loved being a Mama,

a stay at home Mama.

And sure there were plenty of ordinary, boring, lonely days,

but somehow I knew that I knew that I was making some small contribution to something amazing, something wonderful,
something eternal.

Those three beautiful, daughters of mine,

they were worth it.

And those dreams of that teenage girl to teach and counsel and all of the things I never finished college for,
He brought them all true.

All.

So, this writing thing, it's the one dream He's still working on, I guess.

Still following,