The Story of Our Lives

“If you would not be forgotten as soon as you are dead, either write something worth reading or do something worth writing.” Benjamin Franklin

I watch the white stuff swirling outside my window while the gray matter inside my head does the same sort of dance.

There’s more time to think on long, quiet winter days, so I do. And all the thinking boils down to a single question, sending an unexpected chill through my core.

How do I want to be remembered?

I guess now would be a good time to confess that I have spent way more hair-pulling hours on this post than I’d like to admit. I’ve written and re-written and written again.

My delete button is starting to look as worn out as this crazy perfectionist chick that keeps pecking at it every two minutes.

So, enough already.

How do I want to be remembered?

Well, I know it will never be for my perfection. Not for my looks or my brains or my wit. And certainly not for any noteworthy accomplishments on my resume, of which there are none.

My life has been marked by undeniable failure but also by God’s unfathomable grace, and every breath I’ve been given is owed to the unmerited mercy of the One who made me.

So, if I’m remembered at all, I hope it will simply be for remembering Him. For surrendering my pen to the great Author who wrote me into existence. Because, if nothing else, I have understood one thing.

Only He can write the story the way it was meant to be written.

And if you think your memoir is being scribbled in obscurity, think again. God sees you. He sees each one of us.

He rejoices to watch the delicate parchment of our hearts opening to Him because He knows that all our stories, like all these snowflakes swirling are intricately designed, uniquely beautiful and completely unforgettable.

“all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” Psalm 139:16

Would you like to join me in making this happy song your prayer today?

Finding My Voice

For years I have been attempting to “find my voice” as a writer.

Today, a thought fell into my head as softly as the snow that is falling outside my window.

“What if I have no voice? Or what if it is only the tiniest whisper that no one will ever hear?”

I wonder if my writing is like my speaking voice. My husband calls me the “low talker”, a reference to an old Seinfeld episode that had us howling when we saw it for the first time.

In my defense, I am positive I am not as bad as the aforementioned “low talker” character portrayed on the small screen. She barely moved her lips as I recall. My lips, by comparison, move quite a bit. Just ask the husband who has to endure my epic rants on a daily basis.

Still, the truth is that I have been told I have a quiet voice. I have learned to embrace this about myself, even laugh at it. But I have to admit, it frustrates me to have to keep repeating myself. Sometimes, I feel like I’m screaming! And I still get the puzzled look, the leaning forward, the cupped hand around the ear.


Maybe that is part of my love of writing. I can speak without opening my mouth. I can communicate what has been shut up inside me and articulate thoughts better than my stumbling, half-muted voice could ever hope to express.

And maybe, too, this is why I love winter. Because it brings an unearthly stillness. Life slows and senses are heightened in the noiseless, ear-piercing silence.

Even now, as I open my door to welcome her, the whole wintry world seems to slumber under a gray colored sky. But my heart is stirred, like the wild, whistling wind, as I watch gray sputtering white.

I stand here, frozen in the moment, taking air in my lungs that feels like the warm breath of quiet, heaven-whispered words.

I lean forward, cup hand to ear, and listen. 

I smile because I hear His message loud and clear. You don’t have to scream to be heard.

After all, it is in the Holy Book, through the power of words on a page, that the “still, small voice” of God speaks to me. 
I don’t need to find my voice so much as I need to hear His.

So, my hope and prayer is that I will always seek to find truth and express it the best way I can. Through the words He gives me.

That should speak volumes.

Words, Dreams and Desert Streams

Do you ever get blogged down? I do. It happened to me yesterday as a matter of fact. Sometimes reading too many words can be a weight, making you feel stuck – like your heart is trapped behind an iron gate without words of your own to set you free.

You feel as if you have nothing to add to the conversation – like a dried up well or a dying dream. A voice in your head echoes the lament of Solomon, “There is nothing new under the sun.”(Ecclesiastes 1:9b)
But then I read how God makes all things new. He says, “See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.” Isaiah 43:19

He is the Creator. He is in the business of Creating every single day. When I listen to His words – THE WORD – my heart is set free. He assures me that we are made in His image. The desire to create is in our DNA.

We may draw from the same language, similar words – phrases even. But we put them together using our own unique perspective. Our words, then, are like fingerprints – the mark we leave along the path God carves out for us in the desert places. Places where altars are built to commemorate God’s faithfulness to us. Places that remind us to thank Him for renewing our minds, refreshing our spirits and breathing life into dreams.

And His Words are those “streams in the wasteland” that I pray flow in and through me today and every day.

Linking up with Susan’s Outdoor Wednesday.


Random fun things:

I grew up going to the beach and to the mountains and loved both. But I have to say, even today, the mountains woo my heart. I feel most at home there, cocooned in green, breathing pine, being swept away by its rivers and waterfalls.

Swept away, too, by the power and majesty of my Creator who reveals Himself so clearly in His creation.

Some of my favorite memories were born in the mountains so I thought it would be fun to link up with Cindy at I Owe It All to Him who asks “What is your favorite place?”

This tearoom I recently discovered near my home is called Her Secret Garden. Call me girly, but I love a quaint little tearoom with its delicate linens and dainty sandwiches and decadent desserts.

The only thing that would make it more perfect for me is if it were surrounded by mountains and sitting in the middle of a forest with a stream running next to it.


And, would you believe?

I write like
Dan Brown

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

OK – Not too sure how they come up with this but you put in some of your writing for analysis and in less than one second you are told “who you write like”. Might not be scientific but it’s fun anyway.

Another fun thing for me is hearing from you! Are there some random FUN things you’d like to share? Just think of something off the top of your head and drop it in the comment box.

Have a Happy Fun Friday!