If I had to sum up writing a book about my life into one word it would be: riskulnerablehilarating.
Looking over the edge of the cliff you realize that your heart, thoughts, emotions, beliefs, and behaviors will be laid out on pretty 6 x 9 pieces of paper and seen by potentially countless people. Your best friend, your neighbor’s auntie, that guy you sat next to on the plane that one time, your very sweet grandmother… They will all have front-row seats to relive parts of your life that you probably never imagined would be indelibly etched into history while you were living them. Well, maybe you all live your lives with a grand vision of someday writing a memoir, but I hadn’t even considered it until somewhat recently. Before that I had just lived my life, floppily heading down the road into my thirties, trying not to run my car into traffic while I text messaged.
So here I sit, writing my second blog. My life is out there, laid bare for the world to see, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because it’s me. My life and journey. My relationship with God. Beautiful, messy, and abounding in grace.