Thursday, December 1, 2016


Earlier in the Fall I had a severe case of ennui. Ennui might be the wrong word. I didn't know what was happening in my life. I could list all the things that seemed misplaced about life but most of them I've forgotten, or moved on from. I didn't know where my life was going, and I what I wanted to do to be me. Not a wife, not a mother, not a daughter, or primary leader, just me. After praying for a long time it became very clear it's not yet time to learn Spanish, but that I should write. Even if it's just a little bit a day. (Just kidding about the Spanish, that was not clear, I'm just not sure I'd have time to write and learn Spanish at this season of life.)
Guess what I haven't done. Write.
It's not that I've been too busy painting, well I have and actually that's mostly it. But I've never sit down just to write. Does it mean blogging or writing? What to write?
I keep meaning to find a mouse for a laptop and turn off the track pad, because I HATE track pads and write.
Recently I've been wondering what the heck is wrong with me?
The answer is I never started writing. But where to write and what to write?
I guess I should just open that word document, and go for it.
Instead I wish I was moving to England.
Spain fell through, Colombia fell through. And twice now for about 45 minutes my husband toyed about moving to the UK. Actually the first time it was a few weeks. Instead I live 5 minutes from the chapel I attended as a child.
Things I was never going to do.
1. Get married young
2. Have a baby in college
3. Move home
Darn it! I've stop saying things I'm never going to do. The worst part of moving home is, we do actually kind of love it here. It makes the ennui worse.
That and coughing kids. Young children that couch for years of their life they cause me to question the Plan of Salvation. Yes that seriously tests my faith. Like more than you could know.
The writing though.