Do you read me?

Can being completely overwhelmed bring about something great? If not, don't tell me. I almost have myself convinced it will, so don't mess it up.

Maybe I should explain. I feel like I'm going through this metamorphosis (why is that word so difficult to type?) of sorts with regard to my blogging, and just my writing in general. I've been blogging for somewhere around ten years. That's a lot of years, right? You'd think ten years would be plenty of time to find your niche, yes?

Confession: I've started to wonder what is wrong with me.

The big problem is that there is just too much swimming around in this gourd at once. I want to write about everything! About having a lovely marriage even after nearly 31 years, and being madly in love with being a mama for 30 years (and a Mimi for more than 10), and about the highs and lows and all-in-between of homeschooling after walking the home education road for 23 years, and encouraging women--I mean, I've been one my whole life! And then there is friendship and mentoring and...well, see what I mean? Just too much. There is no focus, no little cubbyhole to sink nicely into and just fit!

Am I serious, or funny, or artistic? Is it possible to be all of the above? What does that even look like? What is going on that I suddenly find myself shrieking like a madwoman, "I want to write about that! And that! Oh, yes, and that!" I want to photograph everything in my world and share it (well, maybe not the kitchen floor right now), to capture in somewhat poetic wording this beauty, this craze, this wild and wooly and wonderful life--and all in a way that will draw and intrigue and encourage readers all over the globe.

I don't want much, do I?

I mean, it isn't like millions of us wouldn't adore doing that, right? I envision those poor unfortunate souls who happened across this entry today thinking, "Wow, lady. So you want to be a famous writer. Don't we all?"

And it isn't really even that I want to be famous (although I would be okay with that). It's more that I want to know that my words matter. To somebody. To anybody. That something I say impacts someone, makes a difference, brings a smile or a tear, makes a day brighter, challenges someone to think more deeply or share more openly or trust more willingly or guard a heart more carefully or live more gratefully.

So here I sit, pecking away at the keyboard and wondering if anyone will see this and if it will resound with another person somewhere on this big orb and form a connection, even a tiny one.

I'm thinking I might need to give up the dream of the email that pops into my inbox with, "Hey, we'd like you to write for us!" But I do know that I will never be able to give up the dream of being a writer. Because a writer, I am, because I write. Whether anyone ever reads it or not is really secondary to doing what God has called me to do, what He knit into my fabric at the forming.

And I suppose that as long as I'm going what He says to do, I can't go wrong. Right?

Therefore encourage one another and build each other up, just as in fact you are doing. I Thess. 5:11