September 30, 2013

writer's block


i think this is only my second blog post in september. it's silly, really, because a lot of fun has been going on. a lot of work and busy-ness, potting training certainly, but also a lot of fun. even so i've written only one other post and the truth is that i have suffered from a fantastic month of writer's block.

in the last year, i've found that my writer's block comes at me fierce when i want to write on one idea and God would have me write on another. i want to stay safe with some topic like "girlfriend, don't even worry about never wearing those pre-baby jeans" and He would have me write about something else. not that pre-baby-jean blog posts aren't great because they are and you know me-- i like to pair my thirst for social justice with a side of which-shampoo-do-you-like-best. but right now God wants me to write on something else.

the problem is that i don't know what He wants me to write.

i don't know what He wants me to speak, but i will wait on Him. His words are (duh, of course) so much more beautiful and powerful than i could ever put down here myself. whether it is a simple truth or praise or a life-changing revelation, my words are chicken scratch, nothing but an annoying sound without God's truth and life-giving power behind them.

so i'll wait with expectation and excitement, and thrillingly watch Him dismantle my writer's block for His glory.

[side note: here's my entire post about pre-baby jeans: just get rid of them. don't even worry. nine months later, they're probably out of style anyhow. only people without babies give advice like, "wait a few weeks before trying on your old jeans." don't listen to it. don't ever try on those jeans again. you are way better than those jeans, anyhow, amen?]


September 17, 2013

where i stop and you begin


london is three and a half months old, and she's reaching that darling stage when you can catch her eye just right and everything changes. her whole face lights up with joy, she smiles so big, and even gives a little coo. "ahhh!" she says. to me it always sounds like, "ahh! there you are!" the other day she was sitting in her bouncy seat, smiling and cooing and kicking, looking up at me and we that moment when we recognized each other at the soul level: i am yours and you are mine. we are still the in the sweet place where our need for each other is so twisted together that mama and baby are still one unit and the place where i stop and she begins is fuzzy and sacred and fleeting.
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