(Part of) why I use words

People, I have to tell you there are some things in life that I'm just not so great at.

(Gourmet cooking, any sort of athletic activity, getting places on time.)

But there is one thing in particular at which I am downright horrible.

And it's drawing.

Yes, drawing.

Last night we attended a talk at church about the benefits of said activity.  Which culminated in each of us drawing a series of two rectangles in which we were supposed to tell a story that happened that day.  (Then we had to share them with each other in small groups.)

And let's just say that, um, mine was awful. 

The first (uneven) rectangle contained a pathetic stick figure, laying on a pathetic bed, with "zzzzzzzzz" written above them, and the second simply held the words, "Why do kids only sleep in on Sunday's?".

It's okay.

You can laugh.

I'm simply not an artist.  Not creative in that way.

The funny thing is, my kids LOVE to draw.  Love, love, love.  They'll spend hours gathered at the table in our schoolroom, sketching and dreaming and telling lovely stories with their pictures.  It makes me so happy.

But, it's not for me.  That's not how I express myself.

For years I've believed that I'm not creative, period.  Because I don't craft, sew, or create anything that could be displayed on my wall without much embarrassment.  But last night I was reflecting on the idea that there is something I enjoy, that is both creative outlet and therapeutic device. 

And it's writing.  Blogging.  I've always loved to write.  As a child it was dorky poems about butterflies, and then in college I would write long, amusing emails to the fellow I was dating in hopes of making him laugh.  Sometimes they were more serious musings on life.  I've just always loved literature and the written word, the way nouns and verbs and adjectives are woven together on a page to rend a smile or a laugh or even tears.

So I suppose I am creating afterall.  Perhaps not in an artistic way, or in a way that earns any money, but I like doing it nonetheless.  And most of the time?  My writing is more analagous to the stick figure I sketched than to Michelangelo's masterpieces.  But that's okay.  I do it for me.  It makes me happy.

Because apparently I'm a nerd that prefers writing to making pretty hand-made goods and pieces of art.  :)

How about you?  Is there something that you're terrible at?  What is it?

To blog or not to blog

Well folks, I decided NOT to move to Wordpress, and instead went with a new blog design on Blogger. I've been blogging here for several years now so I suppose I may as well stick around. :)

I've been so frustrated with my little piece of the web lately. I haven't really wanted to write, and I finally realized it was in large part because my blog was so hideous! I really didn't want to drop a bunch of money for a new design (since, at this point anyway, my blog doesn't generate any income), so after hours...and hours...and hours of scouring the internet, and learning some code, I have a new design that I'm pretty happy with for now.

So. Blogging. I have gone back and forth about the role that blogging and social media ought to play in my life. If you blog yourself, you know that it is time consuming. Sometimes it is downright frustrating (does anyone else have a miserable time moving photos around?). It makes you, by default, a huge nerd in "real life" circles. (What? Not everyone reads blogs?) On more than one occasion I have questioned if it is a waste of time, if I am simply adding to the noise of life that is better lived in quiet, private reflection rather than public ponderings.

I know why I began blogging. Just to keep track of our adoption. To keep family and friends updated on our process.

But then I fell in love.

I remember as a small child having a spiral-bound notebook with a unicorn on the cover. (If you didn't know I was a product of the '80s before, you know now.) Even then I loved the written word. Not only did I spend a good portion of my time lost in a good book, I also penned childish poems, adventure-filled short stories, and excited letters to pen pals. Many years later, when Kevin and I were dating, we would exchange emails often. Long emails. Filled with thoughts and hopes and convictions and dreams. Even though we lived in the same small college town and saw one another several times throughout the week.

The pen (or computer), and I, have long been friends. This explains part of my passion for blogging, part of why I don't want to give it up. When I am disciplined and therefore regularly engaging with it, blogging is incredibly therapeutic and energizing for me. It is but a humble hobby, but it is humbly mine.

Recently I was part of a discussion on social media and its effect on society. People wondered if we are somehow becoming engaged in LESS meaningful relationships because of the breadth of our networks. Perhaps. Or maybe not. I couldn't help but share that some of my dearest friends are friends because of blogging. These are friendships of depth. Yet people I would probably not know had it not been for our respective blogs.

Whatever people think of social networking, the fact remains that my generation, and the generations to follow, are plugged in. Like any good thing, this should be handled with care. I am learning to embrace my inner (outer?) nerd and accept the fact that, well, I love blogging. My life has been impacted and touched by the precious words of people from all over the world. I won't deny that.

And so my blog isn't going anywhere. I will continue to share my heart and my life here at just showing up. That is really how it all began anyway. Showing up. Being present. Embracing life, in all its messy, pain-filled and joyous glory.

It would seem that the scrawlings of a little girl and the hopes of a love-struck young woman have simply found another manifestation, a new voice.

So I shall write. And maybe you'll read.

Either way, I'll be here.