To Bear Witness

There are days when I forget why I come to this space.  When it becomes more about a great picture, or the perfect combination of words, or creating something that moves someone in their heart.  Days when I lose focus and find myself entangled in confusion about what is the right thing to write, rather than what is the true thing. 

On some days I feel distracted.  Blocked.  Unable.  Unwilling.  Lost.  I’m left wondering if it’s too trivial to record. Too personal. Too stuffy. Too pretty. Too raw.   Too. . . you name it.  Always, though, I come back to reality.  I come back and I remember. . . I do it simply, to tell our story.

Maybe it is as simple as an Indian Summer morning spent at a park. . .

Or as complicated as sorting through loss. . .

Or any multitude of events and feelings that make up life.

I write to bear witness.  To say we were here and it was good. . .

And to say that even when it was messy, barren, and dark. . .

. . . it was still good.

You see, I’m a believer in telling our stories.  I believe that it’s healing.  Most won’t do it on a blog, but I believe all should do it–somehow. 

And that is why I write. . . because I think our stories matter.  All of our stories matter.