It's been a while since I've picked up the pen, so to speak. I love writing. I love communicating my feelings, and I'm usually pretty good at it.
For the past few months though with the pain and stress of my illness and diminishing ability to focus or organize my thoughts well, I have been unable to sit down and write. But for some reason, today is different. I am making the effort. I am motivated. Sadly, this is highly unusual for me to want to do something, and then actually do it. Here I go...
When I was a little girl, I grew up in a lovely red brick house that had a fantastic and magical back yard. The yard was so big, and seemed to extend for miles in all directions. It was so vast that it contained about a dozen different important activities/locations. At the north-west border was the tree house where I spent countless hours planning my escape from the imaginary evil orphanage. The central north border was the location of a small brick play house with floors made of broken asphalt pieces put together like puzzle pieces that my cousin and I had made when we were about 5 years old. Towards the north-east was the forest. The forest was an ominous but thrilling place to be where you could find half eaten deer, abandoned toys partly melted by the sun, and the perfectly pathetic Charlie Brown Christmas tree. At the far eastern border hidden in the forest was my secret garden, where spring after spring I tried to plant flowers. I was always unsuccessful. I could go on and on describing the important places in that yard. The zip line, the tire swing, the chicken coop, the fire pit, and the special tree where we buried all of our cherished pets when they died.
I spent the majority of my childhood in that yard - I felt most like myself when I was out there. I was in my element. I also felt closest to God outside, and I'm still that way. I once sat in the middle of a field of tall golden grass during a torrential rain storm just talking to God and being blown away by His awesome power and love. Another memory stirs... but this memory requires its own blog post, I think. Next time, I'll write of a time when I sat mid-air in the swing of that zip line and dedicated my life to God's calling.