I began blogging in 2012 in response to fear. I was afraid for people to read my words, so I made myself type whatever came to mind. It didn’t really matter the content, only that I hit that little, blue ‘publish’ button. Since then, I’ve been the most unfaithful of bloggers, when my other writing goes well I lose need for it. Recently, I have become afraid again. Afraid my words don’t hold the meaning I need them to, afraid that the train from my brain to my heart to my fingertips has derailed for good.
The writing you will find here is about nothing at all, but everything that matters to me. It is often about having too much: 5 kids, 3 cars, one over-active husband and one lazy dog. It seems too much sometimes, while I nod along with the old ladies who see me exiting Target with my 5 kids in tow. “You’ve got your hands full!” they love to comment, and I agree, since I know they mean it in the best of ways. I like, especially, when they ask if they are all mine, as though for fun, I pick up my friend’s kids on a Saturday morning for a sweaty, maniacal jaunt to Target.
In other ways, I write about not having enough: time, energy, money, faith. I feel as though I could be a lot more spiritual if I was not interrupted every 5 minutes by people who have lost their reading log, or are just wondering how whales sleep, or would like to know for the 15th time when dinner will be. (Spoiler: it is at the same time every day). I’m trying to find God in this tension of abundance and lack; trying to find Him in the mess and the noise and demands. If the little I know about Him is true, He is also out there finding me too, trying to get my attention above the chaotic bass drum backdrop of life. I’m beginning to see how He can be found there, not only outside of, or before, but inside the messy, the mundane and the ordinary.