I am a woman out of the Lost & Found.
Gosh, it’s been fast. The little girl feeling from first grade is a clear memory. How many annual calendar pages do you tear off in 40 years? 480. Beyond the 1/10 of these sheets that mark my prologue in Korea, my life divides into thirds. The first chapter written in NYC, the second in PA that suburbanized the college girl, the third in CA that ruralized the wife and mom. Cows across the street now.
Motherhood consumed me in its centripetal force. Okay, I let it – in my determination to be the best darned mom I knew how (any resolution cemented with best darned certain to unglue). What was it about turning 40 that felt so different? Was it the crest of my climb, a sure descent from here? Or could I borrow a lesson from Moses? He had it made until the mistake that cost him his crown to Egypt at 40. Surely he’d done himself in. The next forty years on the run he became a family man tending sheep. Little did he know God had all the time in the world and had him on training ground to be humbled and readied to shepherd a nation out of slavery – in the four decades ahead. No coincidence that a human baby is full term through 40 weeks.
When I hit the age that embodies spiritual gestation, something happened. I remembered I was more than a mother. Motherhood is no less my solemn charge today than it has been the last six years. But the woman God had created to reflect Him in her way before she birthed her child had gone missing. I remembered that writing is how I breathe.
See the stones collected along the shore of my wayfaring, some posts light and colorful, others not. Relationships, identity, learning, time, faith, hope, the physical, the invisible. I see God’s handprints everywhere. Whatever catches my eye in the journey, I hold up to you. I offer no secrets to growing a money tree, have no magic in these hands to captivate you with aesthetics. You’ll see some photos and videos, but largely stories and what I hope you welcome as insight. The best I’ve got for you are the words. A wordsmith, I’ve been sculpting pictures from the wayfaring. Single guys read me as the moms do. Artists and writers have joined us. So I speak of it all – not just the parenting or homeschooling or my faith. But of the things we share by virtue of our humanity. Hence the holistic journey.