Betcha thought I was gone forever

So I've been thinking about reentering the blogosphere for awhile now.  I've been thinking about some things I'd like to write about, thinking that no one probably will care or read it anymore, thinking that it doesn't matter because I write just because it gives me pleasure, thinking that I just miss the craft of writing.

And so over the past week, since my family went back home to Cali and as the routines of the new year have returned, I've been thinking about what to write.  I had intended to sit down today and write about the newly licensed driver in the family ~ how strange it is on my end to have a driving child; how freeing it is; how worrisome it is.  I was going to tell you about how cute it was that she offers to take her brother to the orthodontist and that she had to pick me up from work today (and got the experience of waiting on me in a brief taste of role reversal).

Then today happened and I thought about writing of my convoluted day ~ how nothing is simple and even having an extra driver gives cause for a new set of complications, seen most painfully today in the issue of our driver to vehicle ratio of 3:2, seen in how difficult it is to even communicate when we have cell phones and texting abilities at our fingertips, seen in client scenarios.  Nothing is simple.

My day made me want to yell like Brando for Stella, only not his wife, but the wonderful wine that was introduced to me, and I have to say I am looking forward to the end of this day and a sweet glass.

(Because the day is still far from over.)

And then I got home and thought I had a reprieve, only to see something that hurt my maternal feelings a little bit.  So I thought I'd write about that ~ about how my daughter ~ the driver ~ stuck up for Jesus in a way that I felt was eloquent and beautiful.  I was proud ~ more importantly, Jesus was even more pleased.  But her comment wasn't received well, unfortunately.

And yes, I know... I know that it doesn't matter, and that this is just an itsy bitsy taste of discomfort compared to the real persecution happening in other parts of the world.  I know that she absolutely was 110% correct and that the other person was not.  I know that she'll be fine; in fact she didn't seem particularly hurt by it.  But I'm her mama.  And it hurt my heart a little bit.

So now I'm not in the mood to write about any of that at all.  I'm actually in the mood ~ and this is better, by far, no offense ~ to go spend some time at the feet of Jesus.  My heart needs Him.