A writer friend of mine said to me recently that perhaps writing about things is more than writing and also a healing process.
I've finally started putting pen to paper and have the first seed to that "Pulizer Prize" winning novel that I've been joking about writing for years. And it isn't easy. Understatement of the year. Even as I mentally try to give life to characters, and borrow on life's experiences, I uncover pain. It takes all kinds of forms, the pain I see in my beloved Nation, the pain of loss I see around me or in the news, the pain I see in folks separated from God, pain of illness, pain of aging.
But when I go a little deeper, in the midst of pain is great love. And for each loss that comes our way, a new reason to love comes if we give it a chance.
My plan for my day, to work myself ragged with Christmas preparations. Cleaning, preparing, and just getting ready. I think when I don't go overboard there is no better way to honor and respect than to do these chores with love in my heart. Perhaps a joyous soul is in the end, the greatest gift we can give to our family.
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