Why I Blog

...Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters...
Norman Maclean A River Runs Through It

I am fascinated by untold stories. 

We (rightfully) celebrate birthdays, holidays and vacations.  We mark births, anniversaries, and deaths.  But somewhere in the breathes and pauses and commas, lies the heart of life.

I am particularly intrigued by the lives of women.  Very rarely does time record their actions, let alone their thoughts and feeling and dreams.  Historically, women have been so busy tending to the necessities of home and family that there was little time left over for the luxury of written reflection.  Instead, their beliefs, strengths, and faith was recorded in their children, their families and the others that they touched.

Yet I feel a sisterhood to these unnamed women.  Occasionally, they are mentioned in scripture, in history books or in pioneer journals.  More often than not, they are just an implied character.  Yet, while our settings and situations may change, I believe we share similar desires for our homes and families.  We strive for our own growth while praying for the strength and endurance of others.  We weep our own tears of sadness and exhaustion while drying the eyes of others.  We celebrate success even while planning our next task.

And so I write.  Not often, and not a lot.  My words will never be found in a history book.  But maybe one day, a granddaughter or great-granddaughter will read them.  Maybe she will some comfort, or a kindred spirit, or maybe just the knowledge that her place in the world is not so lonely after all.