I began writing a few years ago during a “wilderness” season in my life. Blogging was my survival. I’ve learned a lot about myself since putting those first words on paper. I figured out I often don’t know how I feel about a particular thing until I see it in my own writing. You’ll find personal stories about me and my family scattered throughout my blog.
I also write about belonging. It began as a writing exercise for Write 31 Days, a writing challenge offered every October. At that time, I was still wandering in my wilderness, and God used this series to walk me completely out of the desert. It was therapy. It was life-changing. The posts are rather raw, and vulnerable, written quickly to complete the daily deadlines. However, months later, I know God isn’t finished with this topic — or me — just yet, as I continue to think and write about belonging. Although the stories shared in this series are very personal to me, the need to belong is universal. Maybe something in that 31 days pertains to you? We all want to find our people and our place.
As I have sought to find my purpose, my people, and my place, God has been faithful. One new “place” of belonging was quite a surprise — an art class at an assisted living facility. I am not a teacher. I am not an artist. It’s kind of crazy really. But I LOVE this new adventure. It’s the highlight of my week and it is the perfect place of belonging for me. I take lots of pictures of the ladies, and their artwork, and I write about the class here on my blog. I hope you enjoy seeing their pictures and reading a little bit about their lives.
I was browsing in a local shop the other day, trying to find some little gifts to add to a care package I was sending off later in the day. The shop owner watched me pick up this, set down that, and then asked if she could help me find something. I smiled and said I didn’t really know what I was looking for… do you have anything for a broken heart? (Read more…)
When I was a sophomore in high school, a boy decided a good nick-name for me would be Tank. That’s right, Tank. Just what every 15 year-old girl wants to be called. I’ve never told another living soul that until now. I use to hide from him at school. If I saw him in the hall, I’d take a quick exit down a side hall. I wasn’t obese in high school, but I was “solid.” I probably carried 20 pounds more than my girlfriends. So I knew he was right. I was a tank. And I felt shame. And one day, my boyfriend caught wind of that nick-name, and he laughed. He thought it was funny. He didn’t stand up for me. Shame upon shame. (Read more…)
I wasn’t prepared for the reaction Phyllis had when I set the magnifier in front of her. “Oh my! Look at that! Can you believe it? Wow. I can see the detail! Oh my! Wow. I just can’t believe it.” Her response went on, “I bet I can read the newspaper now! Look at that! And the menu; I’ll be able to read the menu now”.
Seriously? It’s just a magnifying glass with a simple stand..
Before long she had all the other art “students” looking through the glass. They were not as impressed as Phyllis was, but then, they are not legally blind. (Read more…)