A Saturday in September

Long ago, I read an article from Garrison Keillor (that I’ve probably referenced here before) regarding letter writing. How letters are a gift, and we shouldn’t apologize when we write them (as in, “I’m sorry it’s been so long since I wrote. . .”), rather we should just dive in and write.

So here I am. Diving in. Thad ordered his high school class ring on Thursday, which led me to look for some pictures of him when he was young(er) which led me to my blog which led me to wonder when and why I quit writing.

I think I quit writing, honestly, because I am ashamed of myself–of bad decisions, of not being strong enough or self-controlled enough–for being too busy and too tired. The list is long and burdensome, and I know that NOT writing is NOT good. I felt it as I read over my old blog posts. I was recording our life–our history. There are stories there that no one would even remember had I not written about them.

Then, more shame creeps in. What have I missed the past three years by not writing more? Well–that can’t be answered. Much of what has happened has been painful–the suicide of my nephew in 2016, the cancer diagnosis and death of my father-in-law in 2017–huge life events that overwhelm and humble and teach, and exhaust. I don’t even know that I can write about them yet, but I know I need to write. For my family. For me.

So, Victoria is a junior Psychology major at mine and my mom’s alma mater, Harding University. She is as bright and shiny as a new penny. She is happy and busy and learning and watching her grow is my distinct pleasure and honor.

Thad is a junior at Magnolia West, and he growing himself. He is stretching a little over 6’2″ at the moment–in his second year of welding and weight training. He is still my boy, but we have to hug differently now–I have to hug around his middle like he used to hug around mine.

Tony and I celebrated 25 years of marriage in June, and he turned 50 in July. The 25 years of marriage and the 25 years of life with me have been trying to him at times, I know, but we are so blessed and so thankful to have each other and our children–to work at the same school–to have a wonderful church family who loves us so deeply–to have shared the elations and despair of life and to get to climb into the same bed together each night.

Right now I’m at my second job in the gift shop at Camp Allen that I started at the end of February. New car need=new job necessity. I mainly work Friday evenings and Saturdays, although I was here pretty much 30 hours a week over the summer. I love driving into Camp Allen–it’s like taking a huge, deep, cleansing breath. The people with whom I work and the folks I meet are the best part. The discount isn’t bad either.

It’s a Saturday in September. And I wrote today.


One thought on “A Saturday in September

  1. Roxanne, I really liked this posting. When I turned 65 this year I bought a beautiful leather back journal and vowed to write in it every day. Thing is, this year was more about processing thoughts about my life rather then write them down. It was about healing and renewing and coming face to face with my fears and worries and working through them. It was about observation and contemplation. Often there were no words to express the emotions I was going through, this cleansing of sorts. It was between me and God I think, or what I like to call “God Moments”. Hence, there are few entries in my lovely journal. 😦

    It’s like when I see something so incredibly beautiful and go to take out my phone to take a picture but decide not to, because I believe that this is an intimate gift God is giving to me and it is meant to be lived in that moment by myself and God. And even if I did take a photo, I think that the feelings I felt in the moment just wouldn’t be conveyed in the beauty of that particular moment.

    Writing is very cathartic there is no doubt about it, but God moments are incredibly intimate, and often healing moments that are between you and the Divine. In that quiet intimacy I often find resolution to whatever I feel be it joy or sorrow.

    Time passes so quickly that perhaps some moments are meant to be observed and lived and held dear to the heart rather than shared in that moment. And if you so desire, the reflection of that experience can be shared in written form later on when we’re not so busy.

    I always love reading your posts, but I understand that there are times when you also need to value your own God Moments. ❤

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