Sometimes, when I stop to think of how different life at home with children is today than it was twenty years ago, I'm utterly astounded. And sometimes, I wish there had been social media back then. I wish I'd had Instagram, because if I had, my baby pictures and little boy soccer pictures would be organized and preserved chronologically instead of in boxes on shelves in my basement. I wish I'd had online Bible studies because I would have discovered the joy of Bible journaling so much sooner. I wish there had been recipe apps because my cookbooks wouldn't all be splattered with decades old pasta sauce.
Mostly, though, I'm eternally grateful for the long afternoons I spent walking to the park and back, never once distracted by a screen. Instead, a friend walked beside me and we talked real words, back and forth, for hours sometimes. I'm grateful for naptimes spent mopping the floor with oil soap and watching bread rise. I'm also grateful for naptimes spent napping with my children, the chatterless afternoon lulling me to sleep. There was no temptation to just keep mindlessly scrolling, and I'm grateful for that. I'm grateful for the quiet and the blessing of growing into motherhood in relative private, away from so many opinions and comparisons.
I'm not a giant fan of the internet.
But I love this space. I love to write, to play with pictures, to dream in narrative, to throw carefully chosen words into the wind and pray that they land in the right hearts. It's a little bit scary.
But mostly I love it.
We've had a rough few years here in my home. Much refining in fire. Now, it's time to retreat to this place (can you retreat to a very public place?), and settle into loving this creative niche again with my soul and my fingers. It's time to spend hours outdoors moving and breathing, and then to come inside and write so the words have a place to be.