Grandma Asked... to know me.

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Grandma wrote yesterday to wish me a happy birthday... and in her card, she said it again, "Are you still writing, Stephanie?  I miss it."  Grandma has lived a long, happy and beautiful life.  She loves people and she loves God.  What she says matters to me.  She has said it before.

Why am I not writing anymore?

A little over two years ago, I just stopped.  Practically speaking, I developed an intense pain in my right shoulder.  I finally realized that my shoulder is negatively affected by typing.  In fact, I feel it's ache as I type these sentences.  So, this was one true reality.  One reason.

But, if I am honest, there was more...  I stopped for other reasons, too.  So many reasons.

...same 'ol lessons.  ...same song, second verse.  ...nothing new to say.  ...insecurity in my writing.  ...do we really need one-more-blog?  ...and, what do you think of me when you read?

But, bigger than any of these 'reasons' was the most poignant battle of them all:  a quiet, ugly, little, years-old, dark whisper which clamored in the back of my mind--- 'no one really wants to read or know.  what you say doesn't matter.  who cares anyway.  why would you write? you are not worth knowing'

This.

This dark whisper, sown into my heart as a child, reared up and I stopped writing.

Years ago, in an effort to be known and to open my mouth--- to speak louder than that old lie---, I began the journey of this blog.  But, was I more known here?  Not really.  Or maybe slightly more known... to a few people, I suppose.  But, I certainly didn't feel more known. Certainly my hunger for being known was not being fed by this blog.    

Something is shifting in me lately though.  I am learning.  Always.  He is teaching.  Always.  There is so much I am learning.  And, I feel the urge rising in my heart once again to speak and to write.  Maybe I feel the gumption to tell that old lie to "Shut-up!" and "Back off".

So, today I write here.

In truth, I have never stopped writing.  I can't help myself.  I write everyday.  Journals and journals filled with God's heart, my mess, His victories.  But, today, I write here.

I write because I heard Grandma Ginny ask again.  What love!  She wants to hear my voice here. She wants to read.  And, that means so much to me.  I love her and I want to be known by her.

Grandma, we were all made by God to be known.  To know Him and for Him to know us.  ...and, in turn, to know each other.  Thank you for wanting to know me and asking about my writing.
...maybe, I will begin again.