I’m writing more out of obedience than anything, I guess.  I had another blog, a place I shared my heart and my life and the life of my family.  But kids, they get older.  And their privacy is more important.  And as for me, well… it got to the point that I didn’t feel like I could write honest anymore.  I was going through a bit of a crisis of faith, and when you’re a pastor’s wife, sharing that kind of thing in real time is a little tricky.


I’m scared to write again.  I’m scared that I’m going to have to be honest and that it’s going to offend and that it’s going to disappoint.  But I also know that not writing has not been ok.  It’s hard to describe, what it does when you bottle up all of the words.  I know I’ve lost some of them because I didn’t share them at the right time, and I guess you could say I’m trusting God will bring back the ones He wants and…give me the new ones, too.


I feel a kinship of sorts with the little hand-picked bouquet my daughter gifted me with today.  I saw it on my windowsill and thought, “Hey.  Me, too.”  A little droopy, in need of some TLC.  I had hopes of reviving those wilted blooms, so I stuck them in an old glass and filled it with water.  I’m still waiting for them to lift up their little heads.



So I’ll type out these words in this little space.  Some days because I want to, other days because I need to, every day because it’s all grace anyway.