I’m still debating what role social media is going to play in my life; I cannot find a good answer yet. I considered just jumping on Instagram and sharing some of this, but ultimately decided not to. I like that this is living here, in my own space, probably seen by fewer people but also not competing with an algorithm or leaving me waiting for likes.

The past two days have been the most gorgeous weather. While the rest of the country has been battling extremes in weather from hurricanes and wildfires, Virginia has felt those first crisp mornings that leave me longing for a lengthy hike. I’ve prayed for people who, on top of dealing with a pandemic, are displaced from their homes, specifically my summer professor who evacuated while waiting to see if a fire would consume her community. Alongside that, I have felt the cooler air rushing over my arms while biking to pick up my kids from school and my heart has exhaled many “thank you’s” as I pedal over the hills. I’m going to have amazing thigh muscles.

Blogging is supposed to be dead, you know. People don’t read blogs. It’s a waste of time to write blog posts when people want tweets. We read on phone, not computers, and therefore don’t want long-form reflection.

We all know that’s not true, don’t we? What circulated endlessly just last week, provoking laughter, cringing, some (gross) support, and Gospel responses? A blog post about what men prefer in women.

People still read blogs. Of course, the best way to get people to read your blog is to be controversial, to be relevant, to be already famous when you start one. But more than we need people who still read blogs, we need people who still write blogs.

It’s spring! Ok, here in Kentucky we had snow last week but technically, it’s spring. So let’s celebrate with some favorite things!

My Current Worship Playlist: 

I made a new worship playlist and it’s on pretty much all day. It’s a mix of TobyMac, Christy Nockels, Mandisa, and even a few songs that I listened to in high school.

I’m picky about the fiction I read. I open myself and let the stories march straight in. The characters move into my heart and I feel pain when they make bad decision. I feel anguish when life crushes them. I live those stories through them and obviously, that’s the point.

The problem is that I carry those emotions into my life. I still feel unsettled when I’m cooking dinner because Catherine and Heathcliff are tearing each other’s worlds apart. Or- my word- how will Harry live feeling responsible for Cedric Diggory’s death? Really, there are enough situations in my life and the lives of people I love that I don’t have a ton of emotions to throw away on “fake people.”

I’ve always been intrigued at the idea of writing fiction. I just finished reading Stephen King’s On Writing and it had a writing exercise in it. I was reading after the boys went to bed one night and got drawn into the prompt so I closed the book, opened my computer, and started typing. Over 1,000 words later, I felt satisfied with my ending to the story. Of course, it ended with blood pooling under the refrigerator but it was a Stephen King writing exercise.