So here it is, folks. I’m starting a journey, one I’ve been venturing on for years, but today in a new way. This blog is (and will be) the culmination of decades of writing, or better, living. You see, ever since I was a little girl I have been writing.

In small notebooks my grandfather used to transcribe stories as he sat in his brown arm chair and listened. I remember I loved to run my hands over the pages after they were completed – the gray, purple and blue ink from markers I had carefully selected for the evenings’ chapters. Before I could even write, the stories bubbled up in my mind; and with his help, I was able to record and share them.

Fast forward years and worn diary entries later and I tried my hand at a novel (my would-be agent declaring bankruptcy before officially agreeing to represent me; I still remember the shock and awe of receiving a letter post-stamped NYC!), and then a screen play (never produced) and countless short stories and poems. I even have folders full of songs never sung in public save that one incredibly embarrassing open mic with an ex and a shiny black guitar back in my drinking days.

When I was about 20 years old and in college and studying English, I wanted a creative writing professor to tell me what I was going to be when I grew up; and one afternoon I stood in his office searching for this answer to my future. I wanted him, no needed him, to assure me that I could do this. I could be a writer.

Have you ever waited for someone else to tell you who to be (or who not to be)? Have you ever waited to pursue a dream or calling until you felt you were “ready?”

He did nothing of the sort and disappointingly told me to go out into the world and do some living first. At 20 years of age, I foolishly thought that I had done some living already; I had plenty to say. In some respects, that was true I suppose. But really, in reality, he was right and those words have rung in my ears for years. “Do some living.”

Well I have done some living and then lived some more. I have lived what feels like a hundred lives some days. And now, as I sit here writing on my lap top looking over at two amazingly precious babies living my amazingly precious but challenging and beautiful life, I am so grateful that sometimes dreams, though deferred, do come true. And my longing – not the one on the surface, but my heart’s longing – has been fulfilled in ways that are more than I could ever have asked for or imagined.

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life.     Proverbs 13:12

mom2

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