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This is a landmark post. I’m not giving anything away. I’m not writing more things about me. I’m just writing.

I’ve always liked writing. Especially hand-written things. I love hand-written letters – both sent and received. I have filled more than 15 journals. When I was about 7 or 8 I wrote a little story called, “The Train Without a Track.” It was a little inconsistent, but I had my dad type it up and I illustrated it and bound it and I still have it. I’m proud of it and protective of it. I’ve started countless “cheesy church” novels and I’ve gone through phases of poetry and song lyrics. I have never liked to read aloud what I have written. I suppose it’s because, though I don’t profess to be a good writer, I put my heart into it anyway and I don’t want it to be hurt.

I’m not a great writer. In fact, maybe my only talent is that I love to do things, even if I’m not what others might call “talented.” I love sewing, but I’m not a great seamstress. I love running, but am not a great runner. I love singing and playing the piano, but I’m just about average in both. And I love writing, even if I’m not a great writer.

I’ve really enjoyed blogging. It’s a little place of my own. Nothing really grand or adventurous happens here. Just life. And I like writing about it. My sister in law and a few other family members have started this novel writing thing. It’s been a long time since I wrote that much. One night last week, Dave and I sat down to come up with a story line and I started writing. But I just haven’t returned to it. I suppose it’s because what I really want to write is what I write about everyday here. My front porch looking in. I think it’s good to slow down and just write about everyday stuff. So often I rush through a post about random stuff that happens. But my favorite posts are always the ones full of inspiration and simple happiness. I want to take more time to be inspired, find more joy in everyday life, and write about it. Because everyday has something worth writing about.