Today is my 300th post. I always knew I had that many words (and so many more) but I never dreamed anyone (except my mom) would care.
Thank you for reading here, commenting here, coming here and reminding me I’m not alone in this journey of motherhood and self and salvation.
Last night we gathered in a living room and perched on couch arms and kitchen stools and drank wine out of tea glasses and sipped coffee from porcelain mugs and talked and laughed and learned.
At least I did.
Me, the one who always compares, who always finds some reason why I don’t measure up, who is certain that no one would really care to really know me, the mom who would rather write about life than live it.
But if I’m not really opening myself up to the challenge of living, what’s left to write?
I’ve discovered when you open yourself up and listen to the said and unsaid, it can be amazing what you hear.
No one has it together.
For some of us, we collapse under the weight of the unexpected, for others it’s the weight of expected perfection, the challenge of always putting forth the face we think others want to see.
Sometimes we just need to hear that we’re not alone. We’re not crazy.
We’re covered in grace, that belief that though I deserve nothing, I have everything.
And my everything doesn’t have to look like everyone else’s.