Why.

I used to write.  Poems, essays, journaling.  Sometimes I'd get a bee in my bonnet and vent for no one to see, secretly wishing the world would take a peek.  But then life happened.  I got married, moved to the Inland Northwest, had kids.  Had more kids and more kids.  Between caring for my home, schooling my daughter and the necessities of being a pastor's wife somewhere I forgot about writing and sometimes even thinking.  It's easy to run on default.  But now I have a new perspective.  I look at who I am and what I represent and I think about what that says to my children.  Am I who I want them to see?  Do I really want them to think of their mother as a pajama-wearing, out of style, overworked, intellectually lazy woman?  What kind of inspiration is that?  In twenty years when my girls become wives and mothers I want to be a memory that gives them hope and inspires them to seek out whom they have been created to be.

So where does one begin the process of reawakening?  What within me am I attempting to rouse? Can a blog make a difference?  I find it difficult to believe that anyone would be interested in my musings, but I suppose that isn't really the point of all this.  It is the practice, the discipline of thought.  Taking random pieces of thought and reassembling it in a way that speaks and causes one to consider herself or her God or her world.  This seems to me a good beginning. We'll see.  If this is truly a beginning point of change, then I have gained much. If not, what have I lost?