A few short months ago I launched this humble blog. It was, and still is, my hope to share my heart. While I have had no difficulty in stringing words together as they relate to food, recipes, and competitive cooking, I have strained and struggled to compose entries relating to family life. It’s not as if I am at a loss for words. My head is spinning with topics and personal stories to share. My next blog post has been sitting in my draft folder for nearly two weeks, yet I simply can’t hit the publish tab. Why? Last night that question was answered.
Talking about food is safe. No offense to all the wonderful bloggers out there, but me writing about food is not going to change the world. Oh, it can certainly enhance your life. It can encourage you to spend time cooking wholesome, homemade meals. It can assist you in dealing with food challenges such as allergies and the like. It’s a great arena to encourage the exchange of wonderful ideas. But in the end, if you made my recipe for Italian Meatball Soup, you may have enjoyed a yummy meal, but you likely didn’t have an epiphany or life-changing moment. Food is safe.
The reason I have procrastinated in finishing my post is because I feel the weight of responsibility upon me. If someone is going to tackle matters of a personal nature such as marriage, parenting, and the Christian walk, one had better prayerfully consider the words they choose to pen. People, most of whom I do not know, will read these posts. They may contemplate the words they’ve read. They may examine themselves. They may be moved to tears, moved to laughter, or moved to change. If I write something misleading or wrong, I am accountable for that. That is heavy!
I asked myself, “Who am I to write about these topics?” I am certainly not a professional. I’m not a Bible scholar. My life is not a glittering example of a woman who has always made the right choices. I still have my own struggles that I have to lay down at the foot of the cross each and every day. I am in the midst of seeking wisdom myself. I’m a lump of clay, gold in the process of being refined, a work in progress.
As I write this I am reminded of my first day of seventh grade. I vividly remember sitting in my homeroom, my nervous fingers running across my red binder, a red binder that read, “Be patient. God isn’t finished with me yet.” Part of me laments that maybe I haven’t come too far since middle school because there is still so much the Lord is working on. Then the “more mature me” realizes that that quote should be my anthem, for God is not finished with me yet. Praise God He’s not finished with me yet.
So, as author of this blog, I am officially providing you with this disclaimer: I am no expert. I’m a wife trying to support, love, and encourage her husband. I am honored to share life with this man whom I adore and call my best friend. However, I know there are times that I fail. I’m a mom of three boys (two of whom are teenagers…pray for me). I’m trying to guide them, encourage them, and show them what it means to be a man according to God’s Word. Sometimes I fail. I’m a child of God. I’m still in awe of God’s love for me. I am so undeserving of it but so thankful for it. I try to be Christlike, but I fail…big time.
I’m here to share my journey, to share lessons learned (some the hard way), and to share hope. I’m here to be transparent, brutally honest, and blunt. I’m here to simply write the words that Lord lays on my heart so that He may touch yours.
Ahhh! That’s a big sigh of relief. Now you know who I am. So there you have it, read on at your own risk!
Next post: Are you the perfect parent?