“Dear Dairy, today I went duwn stars and et brakfest.”

I’ve been writing ever since I can remember.  Those very short and sweet early entries later blossoming into 20 page epistles written in passionate teenage angst.  I filled blank books as quickly as I could get my hands on them.  I wrote about everything – the good, the bad, and the very ugly.  I don’t think I could NOT write.  It flowed out of me as naturally as breathing.

Over time, the tone of my writing has evolved.  In taking my words to a public forum, I feel the need to be intentional and focused in what I write on.  And, perhaps more importantly, on what I leave out.

At this point in my life, I write things to remember.  I write the bounce of curls on the back of little girl necks and the first shaky, tottering steps of a newborn walker.  These moments will someday be a distant memory.  I write thoughts that help me and that I am humbled to think may just help someone else.  I write optimism and cheer for the moments I am hopeless and despondent.  I write with my rose-colored glasses on.  I do not ask that you believe for a second that my whole life is sunshine and lollipops, but that I am gathering up flickers of sunshine and the taste of lollipops to soothe me when I need them the most.

And so, I leave out the dark moments.  The hard days that every mother has.  I leave out the cold because there is so much dark and cold and hurt in the world.

I write gratitude and thankfulness, thinking of those who have less and still smile with humble grace at every morning.  I strive towards contentment in all things and give testimony to those who live each day harder than the last.  I know I am blessed beyond measure.  I write contentment with that in mind.