Sometimes I wonder why I write about snippets of my life publicly.
I've always been a writer---and have lots and lots of letters and journals and books full of notes and recipes and quotes and little things I've found meaningful to prove it.
I scribble things in margins.
I hear something that resonates and I have to write it down.
I compulsively listen to words in songs as opposed to absentminded background noise.
My feelings are constantly articulated into words and thoughts without me being able to help it.
I'm drawn to poetic wording, beauty and sadness and big questions.
And my life feels like one big blend of all of that, and I suppose I write because it helps me make sense of it.
In any case, I'm not sure of all the reasons why I choose to share these small pieces.
My life has places of both hope and pain, fear and doubt and discouragement. But. It is also filled with indescribable beauty and blessing---and the juxtaposition of those, side by side, or all mixed up?, continues to astound and educate me. Educate me? Humble me, for sure. Push me, absolutely.
I suppose writing here, not unlike other places I write, helps me sort it out.
And, because, let's be honest.
I'm just as human as anyone else, with all my faults and things I'd like to change about myself.
I think, maybe because we live inside ourselves?, sometimes what we see is all the ways we are inadequate in bold relief, neon. And, at least for me, it can be hard to quiet that voice.
And, when I look back on posts over the years and see what I've documented about my family, about my own journey of motherhood, about that one time when I was a wife, about food love and how deeply I feel about how food brings a lot more than just people together, about what it means to me to make connections with people and what home looks like in my heart (despite how messy it can be in real life), I see positive, bright spots. Things that make me feel warm in my heart, because they live there. And honestly, I suppose I write about these things because I'm passionate about them.
I can look back, in a series of clicks, and over an extended period of time, and remember lots of things that were beautiful. Even if they were hard, or even if it was facing a truth about myself that I didn't like, it has become beautiful because of the journey. And, in a small way, I get a wider view of the process, as opposed to that one time when I was a complete failure or that one time when my heart was so full of grief. I can see that grief and weakness and heartache alongside growth and laughter and traditions and people and love and spirit and heart and joy. Joy. True joy. I suppose that's the end all. I see that the combined effort and experience of it all brings meaning and joy. And, seeing this, even in my very human, very imperfect perspective, I find myself more amazed at the wisdom of God, more confident in His care.
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