A Little Writing Leads to a Tangent.

I am continuing to write, but have discovered, I'm great at starting stories, not so great at completing them. The problem is, as I start one story, it seems 10 others surround it and vie for an equal portion of my attention.

And no story in particular, necessarily, begins at the beginning. Some, I have endings for. Others I'm somewhere that I know belongs in the middle of that story. However they are each distinct stories from one another. Some, are even just pictures in the vivid universe that makes up my imagination. I can see them, but have not found the words to share them with others.

Then, there is the illustrating. In truth, I'd love to do my own, and have intentions of getting started on a, long over due, book. Of course, there is a need for time, and equipment. I'm getting there, but still need a couple of things, before I start. I am a tad giddy at the idea of moving forward.

It has meant overcoming insecurities and doubts about my artistic capabilities. After all, if it isn't aesthetically appealing, who will like my book enough to read it? Then again, people like Dr. Seuss books, Shel Silverstein, and others who've done their own illustrating. The worst I could do is try and fail. Or is that the best I could do? After all, have I really grown or learned, if I haven't failed in the process?

But back to time. People are always telling me there will be time, when my kids are older, to be me and to do what is in me to do. I can wait, because, well kids grow so quickly and leave so soon that they can not wait, but I... I will still be here and still have those things in me to do.

I don't believe this and am quite frankly sick of hearing it. For one, they are, in honest, telling me I am NOT important. Also, people die ALL THE TIME. Even before their kids grow, some, even before they've even made it earthside, so never even reach the point of having their own children. Two, making time to do what is in me to do as me, the person I am created to be, doesn't mean I can not give to my children what they need from me. In fact, I think it makes me MORE able to do this. After all, if I am empty, what is left for me to give? Not only that, but what do my children learn if I lock myself away and say, "I'll be me when you are grown. I'll achieve my dreams and my purposes, after you leave."?

Yet, guilt weighs heavily on me at the idea of making time to do what I am moved to do. To write, to make art, to be creative and adventurous, etc. So many things "need" my time and attention, that I'm already stretched thin. How can I make the necessary time for me? That time could/"should" be spent on my husband, my children, my home, our farm, my friends, etc and all the responsibilities that go with each... And that guilt drags me to the back burner of  my priorities.

This is why I am thankful to the friends that God has blessed me with, who encourage me and lift me up. Who remind me that I am a writer. I am a good mother. I do need to be me and do my own thing. That yes, my kids are growing and someday they will be gone and they deserve to know me as me. And so, I move forward, baby step, by baby step towards finding my way out of the dungeon of condemnation towards the light of living sincerely and openly, while I still have time to do that with my kids.