Well here it is. I have threatened. I have pondered. I have promised. I have finally created….a blog. What is my blog about? It is about everything. It is about nothing. It is about me. I figured, if every one who followed my other social media posts reads this every once in a while, I might have a couple of readers. Maybe. I read recently that a true writer will write down everything they know and not stop until they have it all down. I never considered myself a writer. A talker (I talk a lot at times), a great story-teller, a performer, a mother, but never thought of myself as a writer.
My mother always said she was a writer with no time to write. I listened to her stories and tales my whole life. Her stories came from her life. Her fiction was created from her views, beliefs, insights, and the weaving of different ideals and theories. I always believed, and still do, that mother IS a writer who just hasn’t written it down yet.
So now I hear my own stories growing and growing in my head. Stories of my life as a child, stories of my children and stories of my own insights, that are now spilling out until I feel like I am already behind and trying to catch up. Of course, professors have told me I needed to write and friends have said, “write it down for your children at the least.” I never felt compelled yet, until now. I always said there were parts of my life that I could not write until I was old and certain family members had passed away. But there are many parts that I CAN write. Many funny stories that you can laugh at with me.
I admit being inspired by a wonderful new friend, which may or may not be discussed later, who has had a blog for a few years. As I have been reading my new, dear friend’s blog, my own topics started flowing again where for a while they have felt dormant and still. Sometimes, there is just a certain person who comes into your life and they don’t even know what a catalytic change they have started. I hope I am an inspiration like that to someone one day. But for now, I am just me. Here to tell my stories.
So what will I write about? (I asked this myself.) I have sat the last two weeks in Sunday morning service and instead of taking my usually notes, I started to write topics. (Yes. I was also listening to the sermons on Matt 5). I filled two pages of just topics. Will you get to hear the funny quips of my clever daughters and of our path with my son’s autism? My childhood in Tennessee and my father’s untimely death when I was 7? The struggle with living with step-fathers (yes, plural)? What of being a socially awkward teen in Texas and never feeling worthy even though I got up on stage to do my thing without a qualm? What of finding me at 42, without the custody of my kids, living with my ex-step-mother and facing a 2nd divorce in less than 3 years after the wedding? (That one is touchy and for purposes of good relations and will have to be written with discretion.) Re-entering the dating scene again when I had never been out there before? And what of my 30 year struggle with physical pain that was FINALLY diagnosed only when the doctor had gone in to remove something else? (The doctor actually looked at me and said, “You must have a high tolerance for pain.” My response is for a later blog.) Will I write of my tales of Supermom and Wonderboy and how they were created? Yes….all of it….one at a time.
The one thing, however, that I have always been able to do thru everything in my life is smile and (especially after my braces came off in the 7th grade). I am told I have an infectious, beautiful smile. My mother says it lights all the way to my eyes, even though it did not get me to Miss America like I dreamed as a child. It is God-given and a reflex for me. In joy, in pain, in sorrow, in fear, in depression, I continue to smile. A mask to wear so no one would ever know the way I actually felt. I never believed anyone, but my mother, actually wanted to know the true turmoil in me. Some looked at me, I know, as if my IQ points must be lacking. “The girl is in the midst of hard labor and she is smiling! What is wrong with her?” I always figured if I could just keep smiling, it was going to be okay. I would be happy on the outside and eventually the inside will match. Well, do not worry. I AM happy, generally speaking. The smiling does work, eventually. I laugh at myself, I sing, I dance thru life. I actually sang, instead of spoke, “Time to go,” this morning to my son while ushering him to the car. He responded, “Mom, stop speaking in opera.”
So, many never know the struggles in my past because I kept smiling. I had a customer once say I must have been a loved and spoiled child by a caring father to be such a happy adult. I responded that joy comes from the Lord, not from being a spoiled child. And then I smiled bigger. That customer had no idea the God-glued together person that looked at her behind the smile. Just as Dori says, “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming, swimming, swimming….” in Disney’s “Finding Nemo”, I like to say, “just keep smiling, just keep smiling, smiling, smiling…”and in the end, God has got this. So come along and laugh with me, instead of at me. It is so much more fun to laugh together. You just might find I can make you smile.