Worth the Fight: Bridget (17 of 31)

This little face is heavy on my heart.

Meet Bridget, found just days ago in Guizhou, China. 

Thankfully, she was placed in the care of Love Without Boundaries Foundation.   Suffering from one of the same conditions as Evelyn, her story wrecks us. 

She needed emergency surgery to survive, but LWB founder, Amy Eldridge, reported that "none of the local hospitals wanted to care for her because they didn't want a mortality to be recorded on their records."

The cards are stacked against her, but we are praying that she keeps on fighting.  She's been dealt an unfair hand, but she was found and now her redemption story has begun.  When found, she was one month old, having survived without treatment for those weeks.  Her belly was hard and she was in great pain.  One can only hardly fathom her birthparents' heartache.   

Flown to Shanghai and provided with a nanny by LWB, she survived, but still fights for her life. 

$6,480.00 was needed to pay for her surgery.  That surgery is very similar to one that our Evelyn will have in just a week. Their two stories are so parallel, and this momma's heart is burdened for Bridgett.  Because we have medical insurance, I'll get to hold my daughter's hand when she is wheeled into the recovery room.  Bridgette's parents likely did not have medical insurance, so she now fights alone in a city thousands of miles away from them.  If Blue Cross and Blue Shield could be convinced to pay for both surgeries, the world would feel a bit more just.  Instead, LWB is depending on those with hearts burdened to stand in the gap for orphans to cover this cost. 

I'm so grateful that she now has a nanny, but sad that her birth parents can't be by her side. 

I don't know how to raise funds.  I stink at it actually.  But I can donate myself, and can share her with you.  I believe she's worth the fight.  That she's worth any small donation made on her behalf that some reader might feel led to give. 

This is why I want to write. 
This is what I want to write about.
This is what stirs my heart. 

My heart longs for God to use my words to rally readers on behalf of little ones who need a team to fight when they can not. 

Love Without Boundaries still needs $5,029 to cover this surgery.  Anybody want to join her team? 

Tables in the Wilderness: A Book Review (16 of 31)

Pulling a chair up to the table requires us to pause for a time to serve and be served.  Unlike chairs placed side by side for conversation alone, a table is comfort, nourishment, community and a moment's rest. 

An aspect of my season of tending to the writer in me is reading spiritual memoirs.  Writing is such a part of my truest self, that it is spiritual.  So as I dive into what the Lord has called me to, I am grateful for this glimpse into Preston Yancey's wilderness experience, and His discoveries of who God is. His journey whispers into my own, nudging me to widen my perspective of the One who authors all stories. 

This book fills the belly with nourishment and the heart and mind with much to ponder. 

I trust that God speaks, but I often struggle to hear His voice. Sometimes my own thoughts get in the way.  Sometimes the world is too loud. Other times His voice is so gently soft that I have to stoop low to hear Him.  Spiritual memoirs are gifts offered the world.  They are testimonies that you gratefully lean in to hear because time is given to the filling in of details. 

In Tables in the Wilderness, Preston Yancy shares "his story of coming to terms with a God who makes tables in the wilderness, the God who is found in cathedrals and in forests and in the Eucharist, the God who speaks in fire and in wind, the God who is bigger than narrow understandings of his will, his desire, his plan-the God who is so big, that everything must be his." 

The more I know of God, the more mysterious He becomes.  The more I experience His love, the more I long for.  The more I hear his voice, the hungrier I get for His thoughts.  This is Yancy's exploration into the mystery of our big God who desires to walk through our days with us. 

I'll be sitting at the table with this one for some time, tasting its rich words bite by bite. 
 
*I received a free copy of this book in exchange for my honest review. 

Inspiration for the Ears: Podcasts (15 of 31)

Sermon podcasts have been refocusing my heart for some time.  When life feels off balance and my perspective gets skewed, a Francis Chan, David Platt, Passion City or North Point podcast resettles my heart on our big God. 

 

Lately though, as I fold socks, scrub tile or slice & dice dinner, I've been using podcasts to tend to the creative in me. 

 

 

These are my favorites, with Inspired to Action and How They Blog at the top of the list.   These push buttons in me, making me want to do life a bit more creatively today than yesterday.

 

Any podcast listeners out there?  What inspirational juice am I missing? 

 

This is post 15 of 31 in "Tending to the Writer in Me". 

 

Acceptance (14 of 31)

“To be nobody but
yourself in a world
which is doing its best day and night to make you like
everybody else means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.”
~EE Cummings  

 

I love how writing stretches both the reader AND the writer.  I've stepped into a scared place over these past months, and more intentionally with the tending involved in this series.  I've offered up an inclination within myself and must admit the doubts have shown themselves fierce. 

 

I've typed the words, shared the thoughts and uncertainties, posted, considered deleting and then laughed at myself.  It's a cycle that repeats itself, and is a battle to accept the me that writes and publishes.  Such is writing for me at this stage. 

 

Here's the deal though, it scares me and rustles up some pesky reluctance, but it also thrills me, and I choose to write bravely.   Though I gave myself some space from the series to write a few articles, I've been writing.  I've been dreaming.  I've been filling my journal with titles and topics. 

 

And I've been reading about writing.  Natalie Goldberg's Wild Mind landed in my library stack all battered up in its funky cover glory at one of the moments when disbelief raged.  She's wild, brave, vulnerable and now she's in my head. 

"We have to accept ourselves in order to write.  Now none of us does that fully; few of us do it even halfway.  Don't wait for one hundred percent acceptance of yourself before you write, or even eight percent acceptance.  Just write.  The process of writing is an activity that teaches us about acceptance." 

 

She tells me its a process, even suggesting that it will teach me. Maybe this is why for so long, I neatly folded up my hankering to write, tucking it safely in a bottom drawer.  Tapping fingers to keyboard forces me to be nobody but myself.  Doing it well forces me to look at myself in the mirror and linger there when I'd rather not. 

 

This is post 14 of a 31 day series, "Tending to the Writer in Me". 

 

Filling Up (13 of 31)

So, you didn't think I was planning to actually write for 31 days in a row, did you? 

Oh good. 

 

Because although that sounds perfectly dreamy, it is just not possible in this life season we're in.  I've still been tending though. 

I've been filling back up on books.  Turning off social media, granting myself permission, and turning some pages. 

 

My margin for reading is so very small in this current season, that I really want to read only well written books.  The writer in me loves to read words woven well together.  The reader in me likes nothing more than to get lost in a story. 

And when those words form chapters rich with creativity, heart and beauty, I find myself longing to craft sentences of my own. 

 

This is post 13 of a 31 day series, "Tending to the Writer in Me".



Generous Thoughts: Gratitude to the Commenters (12 of 31)

To the sharers, the likers, the commenters, the message senders, the in person encouragers.  To all who are generous with their thoughts. 

 

Thank you. 

 

I read through blogs almost every day.  I click on them when shared on FB and follow a list of favorites on Bloglovin. 

 

Yet how many times have I thought a blog post to be lovely, challenging or well written, but never let the author know either in person or with a comment?  How many times have I been inspired by passionate words, but never said so?  Shaken my head in agreement with an opinion piece, yet not typed out that "yes"?  How many times have I considered asking a question to learn more from someone's perspective, but never followed through?  Read a blog for years but given no praise?  Followed instructions on a tutorial with no thank you? 

 

So many times I've recognized beauty in a writer's words but kept the appreciation to myself.  I've suppressed my generous thoughts a million times, with busyness and an avalanche of attention vying media to blame.  

 

We are bombarded with words.  A mix of gripping, maddening, illuminating, informative, funny, disturbing, personal and poetic words. 

 

Articles and blog posts seem so anonymous until you plunge in and start sharing the outflow of your own heart in those ways.  Here and there people have offered me the gift of a comment or message, replying to my side of the conversation with their side, sharing their thoughts or story of how God used my words to encourage them.  I've been digging up courage and posting my thoughts into what feels like an online gallery, and occasionally someone engages with a shot of interaction. 

 

Then, suddenly, I realize with gratitude how valuable not "suppressing your generous thoughts" truly is.  Each offering has mattered to me.   

 

I deeply desire not to write for attention or praise.  There is SO much of that online, and it scares me because my very flesh and blood self loves those things too. My "Me Monster" always lurks nearby. I'll need to keep praying through how to love interaction with readers, but not pursue laurels. 

 

I can't help being blessed by connection when you comment with  "me too" or spurred on to keep typing when you tell me that God used my family's story to speak to you.  I believe that each of our stories is powerful, and when humbly offered up, WILL be used.  So, I am learning to graciously accept those "generous thoughts" as fuel to keep the laptop plugged in. 

 

I've realized the blessing of reader feedback and am working on suppressing less of it by offering my "me too", my appreciation and my gratitude, freshly aware that I am browsing through another brave writer's online gallery of words.  In a web of a zillion words, every so often a post centers my attention and causes me to pause before it in appreciation.   Think I'll start letting them know more often. 

 

 

“Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.”  

 ~Leo Buscaglia 

 

 

This is post day 12 of a 31 day series: "Tending to the Writer in Me".   1600 other bloggers are sharing their 31 day series here. 

Sifting (11 of 31)

I believe that God has called me to write, and this series is my attempt to sift through my motivation and intentions, the purpose and the process.  But never can I trust my own tendencies.   Daily I need to sift my aims using the colander of scripture. 

When the white screen glows before me, I must first consider:

For am I now seeking the approval of man, or of God? Or am I trying to please man? If I were still trying to please man, I would not be a servant of Christ.    Galatians 1:10 

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for human masters.  Colossians 3:23

Sizzle and Pop (10 of 31)

“I want a life that sizzles and pops and makes me laugh out loud.
And I don't want to get to the end, or to tomorrow, even,
and realize that my life is a collection of meetings and pop cans
and errands and receipts and dirty dishes.
I want to eat cold tangerines
and sing out loud in the car with the windows open a
and wear pink shoes
and stay up all night laughing
and paint my walls the exact color of the sky right now.
I want to sleep hard on clean white sheets
and throw parties
and eat ripe tomatoes
and read books so good they make me jump up and down,
and I want my everyday to make God belly laugh,
glad that he gave life to someone who loves the gift.”  
~Shauna Niequist     

 

 

Today I'll tend to the writer in me by playing.  Our sweet girl was six yesterday, and seven today.  So, we plan to sizzle, pop and laugh out loud, making every effort to live a day worth writing about. 

 

This is post 10 in a 31 day series: "Tending to the Writer in Me"

Check out the other 1,599 authors' series at Write 31 Days.

Churning Out Encouragement (9 of 31)

 

In January, amidst the chaos of being newly home with two adopted children, recovering from an extended hospital stay, and in full throttle mommy-hood, I read a book that reawakened the little girl in me who dreamed of becoming a writer.  As I closed the back cover, I made a decision to say yes to the hankering in my heart.  That same afternoon, my author pal, Ashleigh Slater, posted that she was looking for guest posts for her webzine, Ungrind.  Heavy with both bravery and reluctance, it was the first writing door I knocked on. 

Totally a newbie at article writing, I asked for a topic.  "Write what is on your heart," Ashleigh responded.  Looking up, I saw four year old Eli sitting across from me tracing the letters in his name for the very first time.  It was an easy to miss, yet monumental, moment for him.  Some reflection, keyword strokes, and editing later, Written in Heaven was submission ready.

Before hitting "attach" on my email, flood waters of doubt raged through, causing me to consider a total rewrite.  Or, better yet, maybe a scrapping of the idea of guest posting all together.  Who was I to think I could write anything beyond a family blog? 

Thankfully, I took risk.  And, no matter if it was ever actually published, I had scratched a long ignored itch. 

Weeks later, article forgotten, Mark and I sat heavy hearted in a hospital waiting room while Eli's sister, Evelyn, also home only two months, had bladder surgery.  Our family's first major surgery, we felt raw with weakness imagining our girl on an operating table.  Anxious for distraction, I scrolled through my phone, and up pops a graphic with my own words on it.  They were my first "published" words. 

My God is the God of details, and in that moment, as tears landed on the screen in my hand, He spoke directly to me about His presence.  

Rereading my own words, I was reminded that words matter.  Words lift.  Words have the power to "churn out encouragement". 

Our names are written in heaven though, so surely God’s got a plan for us. Surely His redemption work didn’t stop on adoption day. Our God is Yahweh, after all, which means LORD and indicates an immediacy, a presence. He’s actually in this with us, and His bigness covers my weakness.

God could use my words.  In fact, God did. 

Ungrind mission is "to churn out weekly encouragement by being honest and transparent about our struggles, but in a way that inspires hope, faith, and perseverance."

So now, each month, I sit with my laptop and ask God to do some churning through me. 

My posts so far:

Served: A Mary to Martha Nudge

A Time to Laugh

Bending Low to Build Up

My gratitude overflows for Ashleigh Slater, author of Team Us: Marriage Together, who answered the door when I knocked, and now generously creates a space for me to share and grow.  (She patiently edits through with my grammar and spelling weakness as well.) 

"Like" the Ungrind FB page to never miss a post. 

This is day is 9 of a 31 day series: "Tending to the Writer in Me"

Dream Gig (Day 8 of 31)

 

Yesterday, I fessed up about my comparison compulsion with other writers. Today I wanted to follow up and tell you more about one of those blogs that I contribute to.   No Hands But Ours is designed to encourage and inform adoptive parents of special needs kids and advocate for waiting children in China. 

Earlier this year, they asked me to do a guest post attempting to get others to make brave decisions about adoption files, so I hit the keyboard and came up with "Saying Yes to Complex Conditions".

God has been lavish in His gifts to us this year, and that post resulted in monthly contributions.  I've been spilling my heart for a few months now, and its been the sweetest of creative stretches.  Upheld, Ten Things Adoptive Parents of Medical Needs Kids Want to Know and Fault Lines were overflows from my heart, prayers and experiences. 

For year after year as an adoptive mom, I have followed NHBO, and have been challenged and spurred on. For each of our three special needs adoptions, I scoured the special needs summaries and lingered long over family stories.   This site has been a powerful source of connection, inspiration and information.  

If I might “pay it forward” and offer encouragement to others, I’ll call myself abundantly blessed. I'm so grateful for this opportunity to serve, this creative stretching, and this way to connect with families who share a heartbeat for adoption and orphan advocacy.

Sometimes I see my words on No Hands But Ours, and tears come.  It's my dream writing gig.  The one that represents one of the biggest parts my truest self.  Ten years on this adoption road, we have seen, done and experienced much.  It has brought the most profound challenge and the sweetest gifts.  I've learned a thousand lessons, and have seen the Lord do abundantly more than we could have ever asked for or imagined . 

Lord Christ,
You have no body on earth but ours,
No hands but ours,
No feet but ours.

Ours are the eyes through which your compassion must look out on the world.
Ours are the feet by which you may still go about doing good.
Ours are the hands with which You bless people now.

Bless our minds and bodies,
That we may be a blessing to others.

~St. Theresa of Avila

Big thanks to Stefanie, Liberty and Sheryl for being part of the Lord's "abundantly more" in my life. 

 

You can read my posts here and "like" the No Hands But Ours FB page to never miss a post.

This is post 8 of 31 in my 31 day series: Tending to the Writer in Me

 

 

Comparison Compulsion (Day 7 of 31)

 

Comparison.  She's Me Monster's roommate.  When I look at her in the mirror, she's equally as aggressive and ugly.

Earlier this year, I was granted the chance to contribute to two other blogs.  For each month, every contributor has a due date to submit our posts.  I couldn't be more grateful for the opportunity to be used to speak encouragement into the lives of others, have my writing read beyond the circle of my parents and best buds, and be stretched creatively to write in the style of an article. 

We tattered humans have a way of squeezing a couple ounces of ugliness out of the good gifts in our life though, don't we?    We get mucked up in messes of our own making.  I'm going to come out of my insecure, judgmental closet and tell you that when reading the posts of fellow contributors, I sometimes find myself comparing my words and feedback.

As I am battling with a blank screen,  I click onto their posts and allow myself to become blinded by their light, quickly doubting that my words have any light of their own.  I open the drain and let some joy drain out.    

I also find myself comparing feedback from my own articles with past articles, wondering why one got three "likes" and the other got four.  Why some are shared and others are not.  Constructive reflection makes me a better writer, but if I linger there, the joy drain opens wider. 

My thoughts on comparison are muddled, but as I type and word follows word, the Lord gently reminds me that whether my eyes are on others, or on myself, they are off Him.  So, I am distracted from the task of the moment, missing the chance to joyfully be used by my creative Maker. 

How do I battle this?  Prayer.  When that blank screen glows white, I'm struggling, but learning to pray myself out of the way.  Asking that I might release my doubts and comparison compulsion enough to bravely empty myself of one more written offering.

 “A flower does not think of competing to the flower next to it. It just blooms.”  ~Zen Shin

 

This is day 7 of a 31 day series: Tending to the Writer in Me

1600 bloggers are writing for 31 Days!

 

The Me Monster (Day 5 of 31 Tending to the Writer in Me)

 

 

So let me just shadow you, let me trace your lines

Matter of fact, just take my pen, here, you create my rhymes

'Cause if I do this by myself, I'm scared that I'll succeed

And no longer trust in you, 'cause I only trust in me

~Lacrae, "Background"
 

Oh, how I wish I could sort my life into neat little piles like folded laundry.  Unfortunately, writing lands itself in lots of my piles, and knocks over a few others.  I've come to terms with calling myself a writer.  I had to.  Storytelling is part of being my most alive and truest self.  But I'm spending these next 31 days sorting through what it means to write because it simultaneously wakes me up and unnerves me.   This series is for me.  I'm penning each post to process it out, hoping to type away some doubts, lifting them up as  prayers to the One who made me a lover of words.

And what scares me even more than writing naked?   The "Me Monster".  At the barn, author Emily Freeman used the term to illustrate how we can feel when we take our words and put them out into the world.  How we feel when we gather courage, bare our souls, and then try to discern the difference between sharing for attention seeking versus making a creative connection. It is messy, and I just haven't reconciled how to deal with it.  

Any writer loves to have their words read.  When a reader comments that they were encouraged or challenged, it's sweet continuation of a conversation.  Putting your writing online is like your public art gallery, and you long for someone to stop in front of your work and say, "Tell me more."  Or, "Man, this is what I needed today.  God spoke to me through you."

But at the same time, when I post my words to the machine that is Facebook, it feels like I'm jumping up and down before those I love saying, "Look at ME!  Look what I did!  Me, Me, Me!"  That Me Monster dances wildly. Any words of encouragement I get feels like fuel to keep typing, but also makes me squirm.   If only I could share and have it land in front of an anonymous audience, I wouldn't have as many motives to sort through. 

God created me with a passion for stringing words together. With courage and humility, I believe that we are called to live out our passions, use our gifts, to bring glory always and only to Him.   This call fires me up for others, but for me, I can't sort it out in piles like I'd like to. If I fully live out my love for writing, I'm afraid that I won't be able to tame my Me Monster, because she tends to like attention and often gets in the way. 

I know God has a story to tell though, and I long to be used by Him to tell it.  I want Him to transform me into the pencil Mother Teresa spoke of.

“I'm a little pencil in the hand of a writing God, who is sending a love letter to the world.”  
~Mother Teresa

So, I keep writing and praying through how to do it publically in a way that shares His love,  never stepping beyond Him and toward me.  He's brought opportunities my way, and I gratefully accept them as His gift at a time when a creative release is needed. 

God never seems to leave me alone.  Just when I start getting my laundry folded, He messes with my piles.  Just when I feel like He's stretched me out as far as I'll bend, He pulls me further from my safe places.   The truth is, I've tested the waters outside of my comfort zone, and I like how they feel.   I've just got to keep prayerfully paddling away from the Me Monster who seems to always be coming for me in a speed boat.   So, I'll write today, and fight the urge to keep my life in tidy piles. 
 



 

 

This is day 5 in a 31 day series: "Tending to the Writer in Me". 

Writing Naked (Day 4 of 31, Tending to the Writer in Me)

"Life without other people is boring as hell.  It hit me that maybe the battles of life are best fought without armor and without weapons.  That maybe life gets real, good, and interesting when we remove all of the layers of protection we've built around hearts and walk out onto the battlefield of life naked. "  ~Glennon Doyle Melton in Carry On, Warrior

I've got stuff going on in my life.  Like lots of stuff.  I'm guessing you do too.  Our family has been battling this past year, and that's left us with a shell shocked rawness.  Naked really.  

Here's the thing though.  I stink at small talk.  If you meet me at a party, we might not fully connect  because I just can't think of a thing to say.  I might be carrying the weight of rawness that I'd love to share with you.  Or, I might be thinking, "Wow, I'd really to love to know her."  Or, "I wonder if she ever doubts her faith."  Yet, I might just smile and talk about the weather.  I officially fess up to the disconnect between my desire for deep connections and my ability to move beyond small talk. 

Writing for me is my side of the conversation, the sort I'm in pursuit of.  It's vulnerable, and kinda naked.  I write the way I'd love to talk if you were sitting next to me.  Whether we are sipping tea on the back porch, passing out juice boxes at the park, or pouring margaritas from a pitcher, deeper is my desire.  I want to tell you I got teary at the last episode of Parenthood, and laugh about my son stuffing matchbox cars into the toilet, but then I want to tell you more.  I want to ask you for more. 

I connect with authors who write naked, giving you glimpses into their real deal.  As I read about their struggles, I feel less alone.  But then still, I'm looking for even more if I am going to read again.   Sharing struggles has its value, but this world is erupting with the hard and the sad, and it all makes me weary. 

 

I need to hear the voice of those who face struggle fully leaned in, messed up, but mining for hope, listening carefully for the voice of God.  I don't need neat, tidy and together, but I could use some inspiration and challenge.   I don't need for writers, or friends, to have answers, but I'd love to know what they are hoping for, attempting and  learning.  Or, that they've gone into battle and come out on the other side more humble, faith filled and focused.   I'm wanting you to unpack some of your stuff. 

I'm going to keep working on letting my guard down as a writer, because that is what I'm looking to read.  And if you see me at a party, now you know.  Fist pump to the naked folks. 

This post is day four of a 31 day series: "Tending to the Writer in Me".

Thanks to Tish Goff for her photograph. 

Alive: Hemingway Style (Tending to the Writer in Me, Day 3 of 31)

This business of being a writer is ultimately about asking yourself,
"How ALIVE am I willing to be?" ~Anne Lamott

For three weeks, I've been walking through my days as a 40 year old.  In my mind, my mom was always forty, even when she wasn't.  It was the official age of adulthood.  So here I am, more officially an adult,  with four of my unknown allotment of decades already lived.  It's a milestone kind of year, bringing  reflection on steps taken and expectation for the messy beautiful steps to come.  

I'm grateful in advance for those steps yet taken, stories yet written. Grateful that I've got a chance to see each 24 hours as a hope filled portion given me.  Each sunrise a new chance to move toward those things that bring LIFE to my family and me. 

Writing has always been one of my life grantors.  A journal and sharpened pencil invite creativity, hope, clarification, the giving of an offering, connection, gratitude, opportunity.  It's offering up a generous portion of myself, and mining for connections with readers.  It's being stretched, solidifying opinions, exploring questions and sharing faith.   Pen to paper, I feel spilled out and used up, all the best fully awake sensations. 

Written words allow me to pounce in rain puddles with my preschooler in his rubber boots, and then live it again, tapping keys on my keyboard, really noticing the beauty in the memory.  It's taking a deeper look at life, and seeing the days as stories. 

I really like that ALIVE feeling, and am finally learning to go for more of it.  The completely and fully all the way kind of going for it.  At my truest self, I am a storyteller, and  I've got a thousand little stories to tell.  It's about time to start tending to the writer in me, the fully awake, forty year old one.   

Ernest Hemingway offered a "how to" for this alive kind of living: 

"Try to learn to breathe deeply, really to taste food when you eat, and when you sleep really to sleep. Try as much as possible to be wholly alive with all your might, and when you laugh, laugh like hell. And when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.”

Yes, Ernest, yes. 


*This is post number 3 in my 31 day series: Tending to the Writer in Me". 

*You can also follow along with other 31 Day bloggers.   

There's Something About a Barn:Tending to Writer Within (Day 2 of 31)

"Listen and attend with the ear of your heart."  Saint Benedict

Old barns summon up childhood memories.   My grandmother and her sons, my uncles, lived the farm life for years, growing tobacco, raising crops and tending to animals.   After their white farmhouse burned, they put a trailer on the land, and kept right on rising each morning to work with their hands.  Their land and their barns had a history of both labor and joy.

I'm grateful for memories of summer weeks spent there.  Of rising early with my sister to climb up into barn rafters, holding the front seams of our shirts to make pockets for collected eggs.  Of cows, bulls with horns that frightened me, and stinky pigs.  Of climbing up to the top of a corn silo to look out over the farm and play in the pool of kernels. My little girl self relished in the wild freedom of it, and got lost in experiences so real you could hold them in your hand.   

Lifetimes later, I sat in a barn in Midland, North Carolina.  I'd turned forty and decided to do something brave, something that represented next steps.   

So, I'd accepted an invitation from another set of sisters to gather on an autumn night with a circle of writers.    Emily Freeman (from Chatting at the Sky) and her sister, Myquillyn Smith (from The Nesting Place), along with singer/ song-writer, Christa Wells, opened up the doors to a refurbished barn,  and created a generous space for exploring the creative within. 

And there is just something about a barn.   

Intuition tells us old, rustic barns have histories of stories rich with family, humility, sunrises, sunsets,  weathering hard times, clucking roosters, laboring with your hands and play among the rafters.

This night, as a grown up version of the little farm loving  girl, I sat in an old barn turned beautiful with vintage furniture, eclectic decorating, soft glowing strung lights, roosters ambling outside, glowing candles, crisp air through open windows, cats wandering through, and heart-stirring songs sung.

I'd said yes to a barn. Yes to time spent with writers who had inspired me.   Yes to turning old memories into written word.  Yes to looking for beauty in the ordinary.  Yes to tending to the writer in me.

They read poems, quoted authors and shared their experiences, speaking of story, art, mistakes and bravery.   And as Saint Benedict suggested, I listened and attended with the ear of my heart. 

Instead of collecting eggs, I collected an awakening.  I filled my journal with books to read, quotes, thoughts and challenges, all of it renewing some of that wild, hope filled freedom of childhood barn memories.  Doubts were silenced and vision stoked.

Back home, I'm certain to be reflecting again and again with gratitude on a most magical autumn night gathered in a barn.  And now I've sharpened some pencils and am saying more yeses.   Yes to the writer hiding under doubt and excuses.  Yes to allowing the Lord to use my words in new ways.  Yes to vulnerability.  Yes to the value of creativity.  Yes.

There's just something about a barn.

 

This is day two in a 31 day series: Tending to the Writer in Me.  Check out the write 31 challenge.

 

31 Days of Tending to the Writer in Me

Today I begin to tend to the writer in me.  With shaky knees and a thousand reasons not to, I am saying yes to writing for 31 days.  Yes to exploring the doubts, joys, growth, contributions,  influences, inspirations, obstacles and art of writing.  No clue where the time will be found.  No idea if my thoughts will make a connection with anyone who reads my strung together words.  But, yes. 

 

First, I grant myself permission to say that I am a writer. 

 

 Everything in me wants to NOT say THAT, to not go that far with my little hobby.  But, I am going to fight the urge to tap away at my delete key, and am making plans to explore and tend to the writer in me for the next 31 days. 

 

Tomorrow, I'll share about how my experience at The Barn: A Day for Writers (with Chatting at the Sky's Emily Freeman, The Nesting Place's Nester Smith and singer/song-writer, Christa Wells) peeked right into my soul. 

 

31 Days of Tending to the Writer in Me:

Post 2 There is Something About a Barn

Post 3 Alive: Hemingway Style

Post 4 Writing Naked

Post 5  The Me Monster

Post 6  Strung Out on Perfectionism

Post 7 Comparison Compulsion

Post 8 Dream Gig

 

Post 9 Churning Out Encouragement

 

Post 10  Sizzle and Pop

Post 11 Sifting

Post 12 Generous Thoughts: Gratitude to the Commenters

Post 13 Filling Up

Post 14 Acceptance

Post 15 Inspiration for the Ears (Podcasts)

Post 16 Tables in the Wilderness
 

Thanks to Tish Goff for again sharing her beautiful photography. 

Find others who are taking the 31 Day writing challenge.