Words

Running out of words is not something I usually struggle with (just ask my mom, or my husband, or my kids). There is a legendary story my Granny used to tell about the time she and my great-aunt Verna took me to Austin . . . back in the day, backseat seat belts were not required, so I scooted myself up to the back of their seats up front and wrapped one arm around each headrest and proceeded to start talking. Hours later, one of them turned around and said, "Could you just shut up for one minute? Please?" (Or something very close to that.)

Anyway, finding words isn't usually a problem. And even now, in this season of life I am in, it's not so much FINDING them as it is having the time to filter them or record them or even acknowledge them. There is so much noise in my life right now that, sometimes, it's like I can't even hear my own thoughts. But to be honest, sometimes it's more that I am just craving silence.  There is such bliss in quiet.

Lately, however, I have felt a void in my life. It's the feeling I have when I am missing a friend. I realized this weekend that it was writing that I miss . . . 

When I was in the 5th grade, my dad asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I told him either a writer or an FBI agent/CSI-type person. (It's ok, I laughed a little too typing it.) I would like to stop here and give my parents some credit for instilling enough confidence in me to have 2 such diverse and lofty vocational dreams. And I'd really like to thank them for then setting me up to meet with someone who worked in the crime lab and a professional writer/editor. It is something that stayed with me forever. They believed I could be either of those things.

Somewhere along the way, the CSI/FBI dream withered away, but my hopes to write stayed with me. In high school, my favorite classes were easily Southern Writers and Advanced Writing. (Both with Mrs. Blackburn.) My Creative Writing class in college was another favorite. When I am happy, I want to write; when I am sad, I want to write. In my head, even when I can't get to a computer or a notebook, I am often narrating my situation or my emotions or whatever the kids have just done. It is my outlet and my sanity. And (Josh, no comment) I think it would be safe to say that lately I have been lower on the sane chart than other times.

A few years ago, my mom introduced me to the Big Mama blog. It made me laugh out loud. I can totally relate to her and I love her writing style. Before I knew it, she was part of my daily routine. My mom and I sometimes act like she's actually a friend of ours. Not long after I started reading her, that same longing I described earlier overcame me. I knew I wanted to write on a regular basis, and so my blog began. And with the blog came other opportunities to write; I also found myself writing and saving it and dreaming of one day putting together a book. I met Jeannette (my editor) and realized that maybe, just maybe, my dream could be part of God's plan for my life.

This is NOT some announcement about being published. It's a thankful post because I know that even though life is crazy and it's harder than ever to find the time to write, I need to. I owe it to myself and (cheezy as it sounds), I owe it God. It's a hope He planted in me and I would be wasting His gift and missing out on something to ignore it. 

Thanks to my mom, I had enough alone time this weekend to actually have these thoughts and realizations. And, thanks to my mom, I got to meet Big Mama this past weekend. I was very excited to thank her for reminding me that I loved to write. 

Here we are Friday night . . . yes, I know it's blurry. I don't care. I was so tired at that point that this is what she actually looked like to me. Ha.

And this was her response to my thanks . . . 

Writing for me won't always be on this blog, but there will always be writing . . .