“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.