One upon a time
she wrote, and then she
kept on writing.
I found some of her writing tucked away somewhere one day when I was young.
I was inspired.
My mom was a journalism major and never got past her associate's degree, and I'm not sure why. Her dreams were snuffed out.
And then she wrote a book for my son. A hand-crafted--went to Staples and had them bind it--kind of book. It is a book about a
Moose losing his tooth, and it takes place at the house I was raised in.
She told me how this book helped her cope a little bit from the sadness of missing me and my family when we lived out of state. My dad helped her color in the pictures and together they created what was once an
idea.
Her writing was healing.
I cried when my son opened his gift. I was so proud of my mom. Her first book.
A {small-ish kind of} dream was realized.
When I was in high school an English teacher mailed my mom a piece I had written. It was about
her and it had to do with running, a sport we shared together.
Running is a place we found inspiration and strength together. It was a sport she first introduced to me as a young child--where she found strength to endure a painful time in her life.
My mom did something
good for herself way back then, and at two or three years old that
choice spoke so loudly to me--that
I am strong, too.
And so, years later I chose to run. She watched me and became inspired, again.
She says she started running because of me.
What she didn't realize was that I started running because of
her, and she was just on a hiatus.
I've been writing since I was a kid. Maybe since I discovered my mom's own treasures tucked away.
Creative writing was intriguing to me when I was in high school. Give me a title and I could write about anything.
My mom mailed that English class assignment to
Runner's World magazine for publication without me knowing it at the time. As it turned out they didn't publish it, but my mom believed in me.
She inspired me.
I
kept on writing, and running.
What I write about now is hard stuff and not much can my mom talk with me about. It's deep stuff about my spirit and relationship with my Heavenly Father. This is painfully raw for her and I understand that. Still, though, she inspires me.
Mom asks me if I've met a deadline for a writing project, and she encourages me to
keep on writing. She understands how writing helps lots of readers and especially helps the writer.
She tells me that she hopes my writing continues.
I've gotten a bike recently and I'm pondering backing off from running and trying a new sport. I'm scared. I think my mom understands my fears. Yet, she inspires me and encourages me to
keep on, nonetheless.
My mom is facing her own set of fears lately. She's making adjustments in her own life, trying new things to be good for her body. She's scared. And I understand her fears.
We're good for each other.
She's always written me heartfelt--and very funny--notes and e-mails. She pours out her heart through writing. My mom writes words she'd never say out loud.
I
get her. And the fear.
I
get how writing is our
safe place, even when it tugs at the
scary places.
My mother has encouraged me.
She's given me courage to step out and live
me out loud--even though it's sometimes painful for her to
see.
I'm scared to keep pursuing this
writing-thing God has invited me to do, and I'm scared to ride a bike - just as my mom is scared to face the emotions I bring to the surface in my writing.
We do this together--this
living-thing.
It's what we do for each other.
Forever, my mom and I have talked about writing a book, and that perhaps we'd write a book together.
Maybe someday we will.
*****
Ann offered a scholarship for
SheSpeaks and it was chosen at random.
Though I would have {very timidly} been honored to be selected,
and {I think} attend the conference -
{I'm so not a conference type of girl! I'm still a hide in my closet type of girl!}
I wrote this because it was a must for me.
This was part of my own healing, my own living, my own worship.
Though the scholarship was selected at random
and I thought that I probably wouldn't be selected,
stepping out
and taking a *risk*
was the point of it all, for me -
it was part of the process of living out loud.
In North Carolina in July,
there's this gathering of Proverbs 31 women
[who] gather around their sisters -
women in ministry, leading, writing, speaking, and offer,
"How can we serve you as you serve?
How can we help you bear the risk of creating, all for His glory?
How can we help you multiply the talent that He's invested in you?
How might you bury your fear in faith to keep from burying His gifts for good?"
Might you take His hand and take a *risk*?
Some products really make a difference in a life. They can serve as reminders and shift our perspectives to focus.
