I've felt really schizophrenic about this whole blog idea. On one hand, it's important to me to provide a forum for open conversation on things important to us. The rest of me feels insecure, vulnerable and ill at ease about sharing what I'm thinking and feeling in such a public way.
I tend to write at night. When I wake up, I'm having morning after self doubt. It's like the hazy days of 1984 all over again - skipping the disco hangover. Without knowing my anxiety, you all have been wonderfully supportive. There are no words for what it means to me to log on my email and have your notes. My caring friend with more supportive words about my son's health. Linae, sorry about calling me out, and appreciating the discussion of what it is to be authentic. My daughter pointing out that I don't need to worry too much about shading my opinion because it comes out anyway and that you love me just the way I am. And my mom. I don't think she's ever read a blog before but has spent hours reading this one, Sara's Olive Branch, Jackie's Take the Long Way Home.
Thank you all for being part of this. If you haven't read the other blogs, please do. Sara is wonderfully candid and funny. Jackie is a wonderful theologian. Her discussions of doctrine and the questions of faith are well thought out, interesting and thought provoking.
Much love back to you!
594. Tuesday, June 9, 2026
2 days ago
That's so funny! 1984. One time, I woke up in the morning (in my parents' house no less!) and I couldn't remember how I got home. I went and looked in the garage and the car wasn't there! Then I noticed it was parked in the street in front of the house. Who did that? Did I think I couldn't put it safely in the garage after driving clear across town that I left it in the street? No one ever fessed up to driving me home so it remains a mystery.
ReplyDeleteI experience the same feelings of vulnerability that you describe after I've written something. Although, I try to imagine that you're the only one reading my blog so that makes it a little easier to spill it. And there is something cathartic about turning your insides to the outside. What's the point of living all balled up? blah, blah, blah