The older I become, the more I get to understand myself. I am constantly learning and re-learning what works and what doesn't. One thing I have found that works for me is writing.
Today I want to acknowledge how therapeutic it is for me to write. For me, it isn't that I feel like I have important things to create or share. I am not wise, exciting, nor talented in this regard. I don't feel like it is my obligation to the world to be known for anything remarkable. Rather, I enjoy writing in my aloneness and rote simplicity. With this said, I will clue you in on how much I relish the power of honey do and "things to do today" lists; the "what to make for dinner" plan; a color-coded calendar; a note I can write to tell someone I love them or value what they've recently done; or even a place to organize and process my thoughts and feelings – such as this blog; more pointedly said: finding a moment to document the beautiful life that God has blessed me with is something that brings me joy!
I also love to brag about my children and my husband and realize that the one and only person in the world that most likely would enjoy hearing about it all is my mother; so journaling about it makes me feel satisfied and safe. Having a place to keep it for another day – when the danger of my kids getting big heads is past, and the threat of other people judging or being annoyed with my bragging is not an option – seems like a good plan!
What would I do without the ability to type, physically write, or more importantly think? I am extremely grateful for the opportunity I have been blessed with to read, write, process thought (though jumbled they seem), and think and make plans; thankful also for a safe and warm place to incubate it all, and the health and strength to keep learning and living! Life is good – oh so very good. The friendship I find in this process is very fulfilling and I feel settled and complete when we part.
{insert} big, happy, long, smiling sigh