So I write this blog every single day. Every. Single. Day. A lot of nights I’m tired and I don’t feel like using my brain for one more thing, to write the words. I wonder why I do it sometimes, why I don’t just make a journal or something to remember the best things by. But I know I wouldn’t hold myself accountable if I tried that, and knowing that you (whoever you are) might be reading along and keeping up makes me feel like I should do it. It’s like a plant that needs water every day or it will die altogether.
I have no idea who is reading this.
That’s sort of scary, isn’t it? I sometimes think, “maybe I should be more private. Maybe this isn’t the best thing to be sharing my life with the free world.” Blogger tells me I have 145 followers. Whatever that means. I think those are mostly people I know who ‘followed’ to make me feel good. Y’all are sweet people. I think my closest friends don’t read this blog, which is funny. They know how boring my life is in real time.
I feel utterly private, sitting at my craigslist desk writing about our days. It feels routine, like when I brush my feet off on the comforter before climbing in bed (another weird thing).
Ben is so comfortable in the public eye, meeting people, talking to strangers, trying new things. I’m happier when I’m just standing beside him listening, using God’s perfect ratio of 2 ears and 1 mouth. So it’s interesting that I write this blog, which to me feels like I’m just talking to myself and typing as I go.
And then out of the blue this afternoon, I got a letter. A facebook message, actually. From a guy who graduated from Ole Miss with me. We are acquaintances who spent a lot of time in the same building on the same campus several years ago. I recall that he was a sports guy, quiet, but friendly. We both write (I, here, him, professionally), and that’s mostly where our common ground ends. For whatever reason, on a boring afternoon at work, he clicked the link to my blog from a facebook status I posted. Out of boredom, he read that blog. And continued reading. He read about my life and all the mundane things in it. About our church and our house and our dogs and our marriage. Something in the words I wrote aligned with things he was worrying about in his life, his marriage, his relationship with God, and something I wrote sparked his family’s interest in finding a good church to call home, which they did. I cried when I read his letter. I was just so moved by what he wrote.
Reading that letter today, hearing that something on this blog changed someone’s life for the better is changing mine, too. I doubt he can understand how deeply it’s affected me today. I would love to know who’s out there reading this. I certainly never expected that he was. But that’s not important. It’s for me and my bad memory, to remember all the sweetest parts of our life together, and it’s for you, dear reader, who might need a reminder to find the sunshine in your own days.
And so I will keep on writing, even when there’s not much to say. I’m glad you’re here.