prudence, the push and a proposal

most people wait until it's "safe" to tell you they’re pregnant.

i was never one of them.

i was teaching high school english when i became pregnant with our firstborn. and i'm pretty sure i told my students about our impending bundle of joy possibly only hours after filling in my husband.

this was probably lacking ... er ... um ... prudence?

i can't help it. i'm just a spill-the-beans kind of gal. i've let you in on this non-secret before: jody mcnatt can do her bit of over-sharing with the best of them -- if you're a regular reader, you know this.

and last week, for some reason, thought it a good idea to let all of facebook know that i'd be attending a writer/speaker conference and submitting a book proposal.

clearly, prudence is not my middle name.

i realize not everyone has this same issue. while at the conference, i talked with a woman who i am pretty sure from our conversation, hadn't even told her own husband she was turning in a proposal and meeting with publishers.

and you want to know why?

A). because she is prudent.

B). because, if it didn't go well...NO ONE HAD TO KNOW.

no one gets hurt.

there’d be no skin peeling off this prudent woman’s back.

so maybe i can be a tad bit idealistic on occasion (eye-roll), but still, i really don't think everything always goes well. in fact, when i over-shared about my appointments, i wasn't tooting my own horn or trying to set some high expectation. i actually confessed i was rather worried about throwing up on the publisher's shoes. (i didn't, by the way).

i am fine letting y'all know that i was nervous and unsure and REALLY SCARED. but still, i suppose i could have kept it all hushed up and buttoned up and shut up and safe. i could have. but i didn't. i shared -- girl, you know i did!

but i want you to know something else: in that sharing, i was vulnerable - yes. but also in that sharing, i was blessed - yes!

when i landed in charlotte and had to wait at baggage claim, i did what every other person waiting was doing: i checked my phone.(is there anyone in an airport these days not on their phone? -- another post for another day). anyway, opening up facebook i saw the amount of “likes” and comments, and oh, friends, it moved me. reading through the words, my eyes welled up, threatening to ruin my carefully applied, going-to-a-conference-make-up and my carefully chosen, going-to-a-conference-blouse. it was uplifting to read through the encouragement. i could almost hear some of you cheering from your homes across the states. one friend, even mentioned she was standing up on a chair cheering. (gina mccarn, you kill me)!

i'm not particularly needy in the affirmation department (at least i like to tell myself this), but who doesn't like to be cheered? we all do! each one of us needs to have some peeps in our corner. right? and each one of us needs to be affirmed -- needy or not, it feels like a warm hug in the hallways of life where we are too busy or too far to pass one another often.

and that's how i felt sitting near the baggage carousel sniveling into the crook of my elbow. i felt like i had a few people in my corner and i felt hugged. loved.

and then immediately after that warm, fuzzy feeling, i felt something else all together different:

dread.

i felt the slow creep of possible high expectation and i felt exposed. vulnerable. naked. (well, i was still wearing my carefully chosen conference blouse, but you get it).

because that's the reason people keep things to themselves. they don't want the pressure of someone else's expectations or enthusiasm. they don't want to feel exposed. they don't want to fail on a bar set too high or too public. it's just flat out easier to fail privately, wouldn't you agree?

i get it.

and this weekend as my publisher appointments loomed closer, i REALLY began to get it.

i’m curious, where do you fall on that line between buttoned up and all spilled out? are you a runner from risk or are you a walker on the line of potential public humiliation.

it’s important to know.

because some of us might need to be reigned in on occasion and other’s might need to be pushed.

in last week’s post -- the push -- i wrote about how good it is for us to push out from the safe place of our comfort. and i want to continue this piece and connect back to last week's writing. think of it as the push - part two. 

i realize it’s getting a bit long (give me some grace, i’m fresh from a writer’s conference, y’all). but because this is a blog, you have options: you can continue reading; save it for another day; or, you can take a break, refill your coffee, throw in another load of laundry, and check on your kids. i suppose you could also stop altogether -- but don’t do that, i’m about to tell you what happened in my publisher appointments.

anyway, in my she-wants-to-write-a-book-brain, i’ve even given this second half of my post it’s own special name or chapter.

okay, forget your options, i’m going to highly recommend you at least go get a coke.

back now? great, here we go...

 "the push - part two"

a few days ago, i wrote about pushing ourselves a little bit and pushing toward what God wants to give us.  (the push).

that thing. that desire. that seed.

not out of a lack of contentment, but out of a calling.

this weekend, i was pushed a little -- okay, truthfully, i was pushed a lot. i was pushed to attend, pushed to come alone, pushed to take part in some unbelievable sessions and hear some incredible and (ouch!) convicting words. mostly, i was pushed to consider just what God might be trying to tell me.

i mean, don't get me wrong, no one actually pushed me. the push came from within, but make no mistake, a push is a push.

and as inspiring as everything has been, there were a few times when i kind of wanted to push it away, to push it all back. it’s a little scary when you find yourself at the intersection of inspiration and conviction.

i'm not ready for this God. i'm not ready for this kind of push. not yet. not now. Lord, let me just stick my nose around the corner and look a little. but don't ask me to turn. don't make me cross the street and show myself fully. let me just take it all in from a distance.

that sounded good.

that sounded safe.

but it wasn't like that. not with the women of proverbs 31. oh no! one foot inside the hotel door, and baby, i was in! there were no corners to turn and nothing to hide behind...it was wide open space and i was right there in the press of 700 women ... exposed.

but it didn't just begin there.

weeks before the conference God pushed me to work on a proposal i wasn't at all sure i could write. for months now i've been pushing down the ideas and trying to hide from the process. but i couldn't ignore the shove -- especially when rick offered to take the kids away for a week. and so i started to put words to paper. i pushed the keys of my computer and i pushed my creativity to the limit. i even had to push back my bedtime and, on occasion, push away some of the good things in our home.

and somehow i got here with a kinda-grown-up-girl book proposal, a good dose of nerves and, of course, a little bit of a dream.

it's been an amazing few days sitting under the teaching of lysa teurkeurst, michael hyatt and many others. worth all the pushing and all the planning and even all the late night plodding of words. though it pushed me to my limit, it was the perfect place for me to land.

i met with some publishers yesterday. i have to tell you though, it wasn't easy. at one point i wanted to just run back up to my room and push the door closed behind me. i wanted to hide out.

(if you didn’t go get that original coke i suggested 1000 words earlier, now might be another good opportunity).

in my first meeting, i eased myself into the hot seat and tore into my pitch, all the while smoothly pushing my proposal across the table to the serious woman on the other side. she glanced through it nodding and humphing and listening -- two eyes on my proposal and maybe one ear on my pitch. then she looked up and began to push it back across the table toward me. "uh-uh," i thought, and as i continued to construct my case for things like "felt need" and "strong platform," i pushed it back across to her. we continued our little pushing war in the midst of discussing my slightly "esoteric title" and the proposal's "comparable analysis." though fair and kind, i felt her pushing back on my ideas, pushing back on me. "you're a strong writer,” she said, “that's clear. but i'm not sure this proposal is ready for book form just yet." she presented me with some valid suggestions and some excellent insight and she began to rise and push back from the table.

but i have to tell you, as she was politely declining my word-baby, a part of me was tallying up the copious amount of hours i'd already forked over to this project. i wanted to tell her about my husband taking the kids away for a week and how i had been waking at 4 in the morning and how some nights we ate cereal for dinner. it costs a lot for a mother of five to find a few minutes to write. what she was suggesting in "building my audience" and "strengthening my storyline" felt like a shove to my gut. it pushed right against the grain of my spirit. i wanted to push my chair back and cry, "no wait. please hear my heart...see my work...read my words. there might be something here. can't we go a little further? can't we push a little deeper into the proposal?"

but, she pushed it back to me again. and i knew at this point, she wasn't going to take my proposal regardless of my persistence or pushing.

we wrapped up our session and publisher appointment one had come to a not so satisfactory close.

i had a short break in between appointments and made a beeline for my room. pushing a few tears away in the buzz of my hurry. i felt like everyone waiting outside in the hallway had their eyes on me, on my humiliation.

it's like sometimes in the push, isn't it?

we push and we push and we push, but someone pushes it all right back at us. it's not an easy place to be. i felt completely defeated. immediately, i could hear satan's slippery seduction of self-doubt begin, "you're not cut out for this." and,"who do you think you are, anyway?"

in the very first session of the weekend, one of the speakers, sharon glasgow, talked to us about those words that the devil would be working hard to whisper into us. i mean she just flat out told us, “he’s gonna show up girls. if you put yourself out there wanting to proclaim Christ, he’s going to come calling.”

and come calling he did. he was right there waiting to pounce when i walked out the door from that first appointment. and he stalked me all the way back to my room hovering over my shoulder and continuing to taunt, "maybe, jody mcnatt, maybe this just isn't for you..."

the speaker had not only warned us in that first session, but she had also equipped us. "get thee behind me satan!” she had us practice out loud. and it came in handy.  i literally had to stand in my hotel room and yell, “get thee behind me satan!” (don’t you sort of wish you could have been a fly on the wall). but, as funny as that sounds, in all seriousness, i really did have to push the devil down and push closer in to Jesus.

i knew it would be the only way.

rejection is hard.

and this was (and is) only the beginning.

i powdered my nose, pulled myself together and pushed myself back out the door. slamming satan’s slivery self in the heavy hotel door i hoped. i had a few more appointments. the push was going to get easier, i had not only tasted my first rejection, but i had given the evil one a swift kick in his can.

the good news is i did get a lot of great feedback. the other publishers had some positive comments about my writing, my story and the strength of my voice. that was really cool. tell me more. tell me more. oh pullleeeaase tell me more. 

but, guess what? the second person pushed it back across the table, too.

get thee behind me satan!

well, i have no intention to give you a play by play of every publisher moment, (is that cheering i hear?) but here’s the wrap up: by the time the day was over, i had two publishers reject it and two publishers agree to accept and consider it further. i guess that's not all that bad. no one stood up on a chair and clapped for me. and no one took one look and asked where i’d been all these years, but the experience taught me, the experience pushed me.

and the silver lining: i didn’t throw up on anyone’s shoes.

hard things are like that.  they push. and i guess what i learned a little bit better this weekend?  we have a choice in the push. are they going to push us down or push us forward?

are we going to hold our God-given ground and say, get thee behind me satan or are we going to push the door closed and collapse?

one thing i kept hearing this weekend was how important it is that we not tie our identity to our insecurities. think about that. in fact, maybe write it in your journal. if i had decided to anchor myself to my book proposal, i would have sank right down with it. i put a lot of myself into that proposal last month, but it is not me and it will not define me, but be a defining moment for me. there’s a difference, sweet friends.

i don't really think those publishers who rejected my proposal are exactly agents of the devil. really i don't. as hard as rejection is, we have to remember God uses it to call us to something else.

Christ came and... "He was despised and rejected by mankind, a man of suffering, and familiar with pain." (isaiah 53:3). Jesus knows what rejection feels like. He came to earth with the best proposal ever written ... ever told ... ever pushed across any table.

and His proposal took Him to the cross.

as hard as it was and as much as He wanted his Father to take it from Him, He allowed Himself to be nailed down and pushed up onto a hill called golgotha.

at any moment He could have pushed the entire menacing world into the pit of hell, but, instead, He pushed closer to His Father and He pushed for us out of love.

i guess that quickly puts my piddly little book proposal in perspective, doesn't it?

but the fantastic thing is, because of what Christ did on that cross, even the piddly things we do, even the baby steps of faith we take, are covered in the same powerful push of His love. He cares about them because He cares about us.

and when we have those little doubts that we aren’t enough or we’re not so great, remember the push of His love on the cross and remember the words, “get thee behind me satan!”

oh, and if i caused any confusion with my opening sentence, i'm sorry. we're absolutely not pregnant!

{connections} and a guest post!

"therefore, encourage one another . . ." 
 ~ 1 thessalonians 5:11

when i began this blog back in the summer of 2009, my intention was to tell bella's adoption story and that was it.  get in. get out. funny how plans can change. funny how even the story can change. after bella's adoption and homecoming, God just continued to provide writing material for me.  that's kind of how i look at these past couple of years. well, at least partially how i view them.  i am pretty sure He intended me to get far more from my recent blessings and struggles than just a few extra blogposts.

but here i am, 3 years later, still writing.  one of my favorite parts to this blog is the mini-ministry it has created for me. it began with advocating adoption.  who couldn't look at that sweet little face of bella and not feel some kind of tug to adopt? i think it is is pretty safe to say, she could be a poster child for ending the world's orphan crisis. and that has been pure pleasure to write about and encourage others in.  but the story continued with other chapters.  when i began my journey with cancer last year, the writing really began to pour forth, and this time it took on a whole other layer.  with this new twist in the story, i started receiving emails, inboxes and messages from others who were also going through the tough, ugly pieces of life.  i was amazed at the outpouring of words and love,  especially from so many i had never even met.  and these connections have continued to come with our move to minnesota and with crazy life just in general.  

it was about a year ago when i met with one of the pastors at our church back in atlanta.  i was getting all kinds of encouragement about "doing something more" with my writing.  while that encouragement was well, encouraging, it also left me a little bit frustrated.  WHAT was i supposed to do?  so i set up an appointment with a pastor who had some experience in this area and we chatted about this grand, ambiguous WHAT.  we talked about different directions ...different options...different opportunities.  but at the end of our time together he said to me, "jody, what if all God calls you to is writing in your blog and reaching out to other women?  what if all God wants from your writing is for your words to encourage a hurting woman up in ...let's say... wisconsin?  what if that's all this ever comes to?  is that enough for you?"  i left his office and played that conversation over and over in my head.  i had never really thought about it like that.  but the more i did, the more certain i became, that i was okay with that.  i really was okay connecting with just one woman at  time.  if that's what God wanted.  now, if He'd like to make me a famous author, i'd probably be okay with that too... (just sayin).

but truly this blog has been such a blessing to me as it allows new connections with women from all over.  we've shared stories, encouragement, prayers, hopes and dreams.  i love this.  i love the letters and notes and, of course, the new friends.  i love that so many out there desire to be raw and real -- to be honest.  i have written with women who have lost husbands through infidelity or death.  i have heard from countless women who have lost their health or their hope.  i have received emails from women who have been gravely disappointed in their dreams and sadly discouraged in their days.  women who have encountered major life crises and minor daily chaos.  one dear gal (from minnesota, not wisconsin, but really close) and i connected through my blog several months ago, and now that i am here in her home state, we are friends in "real life."  this fellow mother of five has a son who went to live with Jesus this past spring. her oldest boy. how do we in our earthly way, ever understand that kind of loss, that kind of pain? it has been my privilege to first write with her and now walk with her.  in the months before moving, we wrote weekly, daily sometimes...now i see her at volleyball games, in carpool line and around the hallways of our kids' schools.  occasionally, we even carve out some time, face to face.  just yesterday we sat for a small hour and chatted in the afternoon sunshine.  i hate what she's been through and is going through, i wish i could remove it far from her. in all of our writing back and forth, i have realized, more deeply than ever before,  there are only so many words.  but i love her and i give thanks for her friendship and for how our God began to weave that together before i ever set foot in minnesota.

through this blog, i have connected with friends from childhood, high school and college. this chance to catch up, has been far better than any awkward class reunion.  one of my favorite things is hearing from old students.  these are kids i taught in high school english over 15 years ago back in ohio, and some of them stop in now and read my blog.  i couldn't get a few of them to read their novels and poems and plays back in english class, but they read and check in with me here.  how cool is that?  and, often, i am not just hearing quick hellos, but hearing stories -- journeys.  hearing about the twists and turns of their grown up lives.   recently i had one former student write me a beautiful note of encouragement.  i was her sophomore english teacher 15 years ago, now she was teaching me.  ah, this age of technology... so much is possible. even wonderful. 

but here's the deal, none of us have to look very far to find someone in the midst of serious struggle.  someone in pain.  i don't always do a good job in the arena of compassion and mercy. (my kids might tell you that).  i just don't. i'm utterly selfish at heart. sometimes i choose to check out, instead of dive deep into someone's need.  but even through this little blog, i have learned, am learning, how important we are to each other.  how much we need one another.  men, i may seem to be writing mostly to women here, but you are not, in any way, exempt.  we are created to care for one another...to respond to one another...to come alongside each other.   i had no idea God would use my piddly little writings to encourage others and to encourage ME in this way. but He has. 

"first, i thank my God through Jesus Christ for all of you, 

because your faith is proclaimed in all the world."  ~ romans 1:8

recently, i got to "meet" another gal with a story.  (by the way, we all have them).  but my new friend, heather, has a particularly inspiring story which i am including today.   heather also was handed something hard -- as the new mother of a beautiful baby girl, it was the last thing she expected.  but, as i continue to proclaim, we serve a God who wastes nothing.  what is horrible and ugly, can be used for good and for His glory.  and this is why we write.  why we share. and mostly, why we have hope.

i am ending today with a guest post from heather.  she writes to raise awareness, to inspire others and to share the good...

Appreciation Learned Through My Battle with Mesothelioma

Some dates stand out better than others but for different reasons.  August 4, 2005, was one of my best days ever while November 21, 2005, was one of the worst.  Just a few short months apart, both impacted me as I faced one of the biggest challenges of my life.  Both gave me a reason to fight for my life.  

I received a grim diagnosis on November 21, 2005.  Malignant pleural mesothelioma was a serious diagnosis, indeed.  Without treatment, my life expectancy was about 15 months.  I had been exposed to asbestos in my childhood.  30 years later, it resulted in a cancer that threatened my future and that of my daughter.

Lily was born August 4, 2005.  She was beautiful and lively.  I wasn’t so lively in the months after her birth, but I figured it was the blues.  This was normal for new mothers, but when I just kept feeling more fatigued and even breathless, I scheduled a physical to make sure.  The diagnosis stunned me.  The need to fight was obvious.  I couldn’t fathom allowing Lily to grow up without a mother, and my husband and I were determined to fight hard.  Our support system began to draw near in anticipation of the battle.

My husband’s parents, along with my own, became a staunch support system for us.  Additionally, friends and extended family made themselves available to assist.  Lily went to stay with my parents while my husband and I departed for Boston for a February 2 surgery date.  One of the best mesothelioma doctors available was on my team, and the extrapleural pneumonectomy was successful.  18 days of hospitalization were followed by a two month recovery period before I moved into the chemotherapy and radiation stage of my mesothelioma treatment.  I developed a support system in the hospital while my parents’ support system in my childhood home of South Dakota also grew.  

In my teenage years, I babysat quite a bit.  Now, those I once babysat were filling in by watching Lily when my parents had to be at work.  When people say that it takes a whole village to raise a child I think about my village coming to my assistance during my time of need.  My family has grown closer, and I am thankful for the positive things that have come of this challenge.  

Today, I am cancer free.  I spend my days enjoying my daughter’s developments, appreciative that she doesn't have to rely on photos.  I don’t take things for granted, and I encourage everyone to live life to the fullest.  Things can change drastically in just a matter of moments.  My diagnosis wasn’t the end, but it was a call to action and appreciation.  Words cannot express my appreciation to those who have helped me through this time.

what if - a note for those who have encouraged...

"write a book," you've said.  "get published," you've urged.  "you can do it!" you've cheered.

"not now," i've replied.  too busy.too hard.too fearful.too much.

but in the back of my head...in the corners of my heart...i have wondered too.  what if. 

what if i just begin to send things off and see what happens.  

folding t-shirts and braiding hair and sweeping dirt...i've wondered.

what if.

it won't hurt to try - or so they say. but i know trying is not without some pain.

vulnerable.

i don't have to tell a soul.  but i will.  because i am like that and can't help myself.

but still...maybe. 

just maybe someone will read something i write.

i never intended it so.  not at first.

i've written almost since i could walk.  always for myself.  

but lately God has given me stories to tell.  

a journey.  a road.  a mountain. some hardship. much joy.

"share."  He says.  and i do.  
always wondering if it is too much.  i cross lines and ignore boundaries and step hard on toes.  

but maybe.

just maybe.

maybe.

and so i thought of this wonderful website i have been linked with for about a year now.  (in)courage.me  a division of hallmark-dayspring.  it is a website for women; our issues, our triumphs, our tests.  it features several leading writers and speakers regularly. women i admire.  women i read.   there seems always to be something good - some kind of treasure or tidbit.  

a few weeks ago, i looked up their submission policy, and before i could think twice, i submitted something small.  

how surprised i was to open my email a week later and see their response. "we'd like to use your piece on our site." a guest writer.  well, okay then.  that's good.  i guess this is my first "yes."  i am not sure about future yesses...but i will celebrate this one.  because life is like that...one yes at a time.  one no at a time.  one moment at a time.

tomorrow it will be published.   i will post a link  to the site.  it is small.  tiny.  just a scared toe testing murky waters.  
but maybe...

an orderly sort of woman

it appears, in order to write, i require a three ring circus camped out in my living room.  to put words to paper, i must have a zoo or a parade marching around the hallways of my house.  i have only just discovered this odd and unsettling fact, and i am not particularly pleased.  man and five children vacate our home,  leaving me alone for three (glorious) days to work at my craft and i craft nothing.  well, perhaps a little.  but not as much as i had planned, as i had hoped.  nowhere close. by the way,  the true story here is man and five children vacating home.  that, my friends,  is the real piece de resistance of the weekend.


apparently, i am in need of a 3 year old on my lap and the nonstop opening and shutting of office door by four other curious, questioning (possibly, bored?) children.  i am in need of an occasional, "mom!"  or an unfortunate, "help!"  hollered from a spot not far enough away.  i clearly require a ringing phone, a running dishwasher, and a burning breakfast to complete my paragraph with alacrity.  a sisterly squabble,  a brotherly duel, or a full out sibling war is essential to sharpening this writer's focus.


i have been sitting for three days in the midst of lovely-perfect-quiet.  alone with my sleek macbook and my sloppy thoughts.  alone with my stream of ideas and my head full of words.  but something was missing.  maybe i am in need of the great din of day, the big bellow of family and the terrific splash of life exploding all around me.  all over me. full at me.  i am in need of the incredible ooze of my children and their spilling sounds from underneath the door.  perhaps, my own yelling of the,  unavoidable, "i'm writing!" is necessary to fan the flame of creativity.  i am not sure.  but no interruptions and a strangely still home, though terrifically appreciated, didn't quite set me on fire. 


why is it when i do have words pouring forth, i am supposed to be somewhere or cook something or pick up someone?   just last week, i frantically dashed out of the house with car keys and laptop in arms.   i flung myself into the driver's seat and attempted to finish typing a final sentence with one hand while starting the car with the other.  no panic necessary, i checked both mirrors.  i realized en route, i had forgotten my shoes. sigh. when i picked up waiting child i carefully slid the laptop under my bag, not wanting to appear so desperate to one so young.  not wanting to seem quite so addicted.  but sometimes that's how i feel.  addicted and desperate and barefoot.  desperate to put ink to paper.  to put words to screen.  and the thing is, i have little control.  i cannot turn it on and off again. it doesn't work that way. my former english students will, no doubt, like that measly admission.


here i am, weekend wide open for writing, and i find my mind wandering and my thoughts running...everywhere(else).  i decide to paint.  to organize. to read.  to garden.  to throw away old pencil stubs.  to scrub the grout in our shower.  to color coordinate my closet.  to feed the fish (no one feeds the fish, ever). what is this?  i am forty-something years old and completely void of discipline.  i would tell you i have used it all up on five children.  that must be it - it is all their fault!  i have nothing, absolutely no discipline, left for myself.   i am no more than a dilettante.  a dabbler.  a dreamer.  at least a, late-in-life, undiagnosed case of ADD.


if i was an orderly sort of woman, i might have a schedule.  it would carve out regular blocks of writing time.  it would neatly organize the children into meaningful and (of course) educational activities.  it would remind me to have a meal slow cooking in a shiny crock pot and the table already set.  napkins folded in sharp triangles.  milk glasses matching.  if i was an orderly sort of woman the dog would be fed and the laundry folded and the refrigerator clean.  but, i have to admit, i am not.  i am a woman who throws herself and her computer into car, while forgetting her shoes.


later today, when the kids come rushing back from grandma's house, with suitcases and stories exploding, i'll probably feel a great rush of words.   i will get caught up in the their noise and somehow (then) words will unravel from the deep well of my solitary weekend.  they will slide out from behind my forehead and make their way down through my fingers.  i will itch to type.  but i won't.  a woman doesn't get three days alone and then disappear back behind the screen of her computer too soon.  no, i will go back to doing what i always do:  tapping out words in between the breakfast and babble and barking moments of life.  and it will, somehow, work.


though a weekend alone for a mother-of-many is a gift,  a treasure, a once-in-a-great-while luxury item,  it is not what inspires me.  i need the family shifting wildly at my feet.  untidy, but inspiring. i've gotten used to having them around.  my family, in all their ruckus and unruliness, unplug the slow channels of my heart.  for writing is heart.  without it, only words.  the incredible flinging of their life-noise is what stirs the pot of my stories and tellings.  my plain words become colored with love for them.  by love for them.  my love for them.  love. 


not that i mind a weekend alone every once in a while...

"fill your paper with the breathings of your heart."  ~william wordsworth