Mom, Ministry, Life, Family, Humor



So here I am writing again.

I’ve been a closeted writer for a long time.  I journaled for years and years.  I wrote everything down, until about the time I got married.  Which until recently, really bothered me.  I didn’t journal anymore, it had to be because I got too busy being a married person.  I see now though, that wasn’t it at all.  My journaling was my companion.  It was how I experienced the world and processed thoughts.  When I met my husband and we got married, I now had a person to engage with.  Which I think is exactly how God designed it.  (Isn’t it fun when you stop feeling bad about something and you are able to see the amazing gift and beauty in the situation.)

Journaling is not what I’m talking about here though.  I mean writing.  Taking a thought or an idea and bending and twisting it, making it relatable, making it valuable.  Giving words to the space I am in.  It could be confused with journaling, but it’s not.  Journaling is the menu.  It’s the quick description of all the ideas and thoughts going on in your mind.  Writing is the steak dinner.  It’s the meat, the aroma, the moment it touches your mouth, the sensations.

I remember walking from class to class in college at Michigan State.  It is a huge campus, so there was a lot of time to think.  This was just before or maybe right at the beginning of all people wearing headphones everywhere they go (2001-ish), that was still more of an exception than a norm.  So all of this walking with no listening, left me to my thoughts and I remember I would write stories, I would write essays, novels, poems.  This was also just before or again right at the beginning of blogging and the world of blogs, so I didn’t have a space for all of these things to go, it all just lived inside my head.  I have been doing that ever since.

I don’t even know if I can call writing or being a writer a dream.  Dreams come and go, dreams change, dreams can die.  But writing, for me is more like a pulse.  It’s ongoing, never ending, a constant thought, a never ending beat.  It’ll only die when I die.

The one thing a pulse can do however, is flat line.  And I think that is where I have been at for a long time.  Not gone, just at that long beeeeeeep before you hear that beautiful life giving babump.

A few summers ago, we were on vacation with family. I had just recently transitioned from my career to a stay at home mom, and we were discussing how to make money and still be home with (at the time) my very young kids.  My sister-in-law’s boyfriend spoke up and said “all you have to do is start a blog about mom crap”.  That lead to a slow, not very steady, but still alive pulse.  I floundered for a year or two trying my hand at the mom crap blogs and failed each time.  I have no original thoughts when it comes to mom crap, so this was inevitable.

But now, the heart rate is up, the pulse is pounding and I’m finding my voice.  If you bear with me, I’d love to share it with you.  I hope that if you are in a slow pulse season that maybe this will inspire you to figure out what pumps your blood and go after that.

Remember a dream might not last forever, but what truly gives you life will never die unless you get taken out first.





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