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Showing posts from January, 2013

New Wells

I don't know that I've ever written for the fun of it.

At least, it's been a very long time since I have.

I've been writing as long as I can remember, even before I can remember.  In my memory box are crudely stapled construction paper booklets, and on them is my mother's neat print in blue Bic ink, "Heather is my little bookmaker."

I had no idea that I did that.

But I like that I did.  I like that I wanted to write before life started to hurt.

You see, I'm in this strange now-not-so-new place, this place of prolonged peace that I've spoken of.  No one in my family is dying or divorcing or remarrying, and no one in my church is rebuking me or my Dave.

In fact, my life is wildly enviable right now.  Dave has been hired to an excellent company.  His salary is enough that I quit my part-time job to work on writing full-time.  We are in a church that we call "ours".  Our fridge is full, our families are supportive, and our vehicles run grea…