The corner is quiet.

Warm, moist, steamy air escapes the cracked bathroom door as the scent of watermelon fills the room. A child luxuriates in the shower, as I put up my feet for a moment.

The physical and emotional toll of the day has wrung me out, and while there are many things that I wish to do like read, write, blog, take down the Christmas tree, process my day, all I can do is default to Facebook.

Not entirely true.

I can choose to sign out. To close up the screen. To lift journal and pen from their resting place.

I can write.

And I do.

I put to paper everything too precious to release into cyberspace. I recall the day and how God met me and where and through whom or what.

I remember the sacred spaces I inhabited and the painful places I faced and the many faces I encountered and those who encountered mine.

I wrestle through hardships and strong feelings of teens and tweens and pre-tweens, wondering if we will even make it through these trials. A text from a grown-up kid reminds me to hold on. That it’s worth it. They made it. We will make it.

I hide and engage and try and retreat. I return to my room wrung and reeling and muster the courage to show up once again.

When the timer goes off.

2 thoughts on “Write

  1. Davene Grace

    I admire you for many reasons, one of which is your discipline to journal with a real pen on paper! That is something I used to do, but which has fallen completely by the wayside.

    1. mommypancis Post author

      I love my journals. And some things just need to find their way to paper. There is therefore now NO condemnation to those whose journals sit blank. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to publish a book for each of my children upon their graduation from homeschool. 😉 Love you much, Friend.


Thanks for heart-composting with me! I appreciate your words.

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