1 Thought
I used to think I was lazy.
And maybe I am.
But now I see there’s more mystery to this brain of mine.
Maybe ADHD
and I’m praying for strategies to navigate home school and the faithful tending of my house
and I’m hoping my kids don’t grow up with a warped view of family life…that equates to overwhelm.
Yes, I’m overwhelmed, overstimulated, and sometimes over-committed.
But I also wouldn’t trade this life for anything.
All this time with my little ones—It’s interesting watching the glory of who God made them to be
while simultaneously wishing I was someone different.
Sure, no one is perfect. But couldn’t my limitations be different?
An Update
I started a blog!
And while it has a knitting focus, it’s also where I share about my life. Whether on my podcast or on the blog itself, I share what I’m working on, thinking about, and what’s going on over here. That may sound somewhat familiar. If you’re here because you like to read what I’m up to—This is for you.
I’m making changes to this space on Substack. For one thing, I’m changing to a complete paid model. I know that’s super annoying. But remember? My blog and podcast are completely free. You can subscribe here.
The reason for the change?
A couple years I attended a workshop with Leslie Leyland Fields that lit a fire in me to write my story. I recently purchased the book and will begin writing my story in short form. I will share many of them here. I also plan to write my own books. Some of you are thinking, “Finally!” I love you. Thanks.
Others tremble. You know parts of my story. You wonder if I could just stick to fiction and keep my memories to myself. I get it. And the answer is No. But these stories won’t be easily accessed. They are valuable. The work costly. Writing them is no light matter to me. And it’s been a long time coming.
A poem
Slow wake
Sweet aroma
Grandma’s homemade pancakes
loaded on a plate
Bacon still crackling and popping
on the griddle
She hides how many cakes
she gives me, cutting them up
before anyone can count them
and then drowns them in Mrs. Butterworth’s syrup—YUM!
her ruby red fingernails glisten,
her smile big at our excitement,
a knowing twinkle in her almond eyes
Breakfast is her super power
and she will use it to put fat on our bones
She worries and she turns those worries
into memories we can cling to for years,
tastes of heaven, hope for a redeemed story
of beauty rising out of the ashes of a predictable divorce