I write because it makes me feel. It makes me remember. It makes me avoid doing laundry, and something about that just feels right. Writing means that when my husband gets home from work, I have about twenty minutes less to say to him because I’ve already said it to you, which to Kellan translates into twenty extra minutes of ESPN.
So you see, this blog is good for our marriage.
I write my stories from a little black desk that some dear friends gave to me, and each consists of whatever pops into my head when I sit down to write. I write about God is teaching me through my very newly-minted marriage. I write about what I ate for breakfast. I write about absurd things that happen during the course of my day, and I write about what I am learning after watching my 21 year old little brother die of cancer three days before my wedding. I write about grief and a grace that is deeper still. And if you go back to the beginning, you’ll find stories from the two years that I spent living in Africa, which is where this blog was born.
My husband thanks you for his ESPN time, and I thank you for listening and reminding me that I am not alone.