Why Don't She Write?

Remember this famous line from "Dances With Wolves?"  Unlike the poor woman in that scene I'm still breathing but haven't been doing too much writing for a few months.

Inspiration and drafting an essay come easily to me but editing and refining take a long time.  Since we brought home our sweet puppy there hasn't been much time for doing the things that matter, but family and friends tell me that it will get better.

Oh, and you sorta need enough sleep in the day for the mind to release creativity.  Since Zadie entered our lives I haven't been able to supplement my poor night time sleeping hours with my typical hefty naps.  It's hard to rub two synapses together when insufficient sleep isn't letting the brain recharge itself.

But writing needs to be in my life; there are so many thoughts and emotions running through my head that need to be shunted to paper to save my fragile sanity.  Because of the pup I've been spending a great deal of time outside and listening to the insects, birds, neighborhood sounds and wind in the trees more and more.  I buy thrift store books so I can stay outdoors and read without guilt even when it's misting or just sprinkling, since the pup loves the outdoors, too, and can study ants for a very long time while I consume page after page.  So many of the authors write in ways that make me realize it's okay to be a little confusing with your plot, a little tangential in your focus and that having to look up an unfamiliar word doesn't detract from the flow of reading.

There are some moments that have to be preserved, at least for me.  This morning I was so glad to see one of my daughter's peers singing with the worship team.  I chuckled because she had just gone to a craft beverage festival yesterday and here she was belting out worship songs; Martin Luther would have been proud of her.

She's worked with teens for years and knows so much about the rough spots in life yet her face was so peaceful and almost angelic while she sang with the vocalists and instrumentalists on her team.  I noticed that she often looked upward and smiled during the hymns and then the tears started to gush from my eyes.

Her parents were sitting across the aisle from me and I didn't dare look at them because my face was all scrunched up, trying to stop myself from bawling with overwhelming gladness.  To watch your child or someone else you love exhibit joy and happiness about something that matters so much to you is unspeakably glorious.  All you can do is say "Thank You" to the Lord for working in their hearts. My getting-braver, more radical self wanted to stop the music and tell everyone in the congregation about what a great thing the Lord had done, saving this girl and putting a beautiful heart in her, but I kept it under wraps.  Shame on me.

One day there won't be any stopping us inhibited, reserved folks from shouting out.  But for now, I'll just write you a story.