Writing a Life.

I struggle with writing. Not because I don't like it. Precisely because I love to write. Anything that we love can become demanding. Writing has a voracious appetite for time.    I have a husband, two kids, a job, lots of volunteer projects, a precious list of friends and extended family and a cat. They all have priority over my writing.  Hence the struggle.  Writing tucks into stolen moments on the edges of my life. 

Right now I'm listening to Annie Dillard's book "The Writing Life".   It's beautiful and calls part of me to find a quiet island and spend long days with a pen and pad of paper. 

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.  
​-Annie Dillard

Hmm. A review. Today: I checked off tasks from my list. Hugged a grieving friend. Practiced a piano duet with my eldest. Colored a picture with my baby. We used Sharpies. Chatted with my parents. Ate pizza. Paid some bills. Prayed. Went to lunch with someone who has always told me the truth. Finished a project with my sister. Ironed out a misunderstanding. Got cussed at in a parking lot. Took a bath.  Read a book. 

The dedicated life is the life worth living.
You must give with your whole heart.
-Annie Dillard

Oh.  But to give your whole heart can hurt.  

Last year was hard. Too many days spent in hospitals and doctors and court rooms. A heartbreaking loss.  One difficult yet miraculous recovery. Grief and numbness and relief and gratitude all mushed together.  Writing is helping to sort it out. 

Writing is not life, but I think that sometimes it can be a way back to life.  
Stephen King, On Writing. 

As I write tonight it occurs to me that there are a lot of ways to write.  Every time I color with my daughter I'm writing a message on her heart.  I'm telling her she matters and her space in my life is sacred. When I practice with my eldest I'm writing out a memory which she'll remember when she's a mom.  When I talk through a problem with my spouse or when our eyes meet in laughter over the heads of our children I'm writing a love letter.   

​Jesus spent most of his time on Earth in normal activity.  He fished.  He made breakfast for friends. He cleaned up messes. He told stories. The miracles and healings and sacrifice were certainly divine. But so were the ordinary moments of love. It's a life worth copying.  It's worth writing and living. 

But her story isn't finished, and for once she's picked up a pen.  
-Kelsey Sutton Some Quiet Place