I started my first diary when I was 6 years old. I vividly remember the day I was searching for candy in my grandma's dresser; that was the day the bug was born. She lived with us back then, and me and my two brothers spent a lot of time in her apartment. She would feed us Vanilla Wafers topped with strawberry cream cheese. I can smell the strawberry, vanillony goodness now. She also loved (gulp) Vienna Sausages. I have to say those never really took. We would steal sips of her diet Pepsi. And, life in her part of the house was slow, and magical. She had a round glass terrarium with little gnome figurines inside, next to her kitchen sink. The boys and I would sit on her kitchen countertops and take the gnomes out to play with. I think I eventually broke one of those porcelain red and green guys with funny hats. That was a sad day. Sometimes, I sorted her medications...and looking back it kind of cracks me up. Heart medications in the hands of a 6-year-old? Hey, no one was hurt. And, I like sorting little colorful pills.
So, back to the candy searching. One day I was up on a chair, searching for candy, when I found a little leather-bound, latching, locking, book labeled, "Diary." I ran over to my grandma and asked her what it was. She explained to me that it was her diary and a place to write down the things that happen in your life. I planted my 6-year-old bottom on her gold carpet and spent the rest of the time during, "The Price is Right," pouring over her entries. I was in heaven! Nosy even then. Hers were mostly appointment dates and times, birthdays and details about trips taken. I found another diary that was blank in her drawer, and begged to have it. I was such a rude kid. She lovingly gave it to me.
I don't have that diary anymore. But I do remember looking at it when I was about eleven. Of course I was mortified! Big scribbles across the pages. People I wanted to marry. Places I wanted to go. Things I hated about life. Things I loved about life. My best friend, my second best friend, and my tie for third best friend. My latest heart or flower drawing. At eleven, I was embarrassed at how stupid I was at 6. But my 6-year-old self loved having such a special place to write.
Fast forward twenty-three years. I haven't kept a diary loyally at all. Since I married Mr. Deem, for some reason keeping handwritten journals and baby books NEVER happens. I'll bet there are fifteen journals in random boxes in our garage, with only a handful of entries each. I feel too scatter-brained to do it anymore.
Even though it can be less personal--sitting down and typing something up is just easier.
When I started this blog...I wanted to write again.
During the past few months--I began to panic: "Is it an adoption blog? Homeschool blog? Military blog? Political blog?"
"If I don't narrow my topic, it won't be interesting. It won't be valid."
Then I remembered why I wanted to blog in the first place:
- to experience writing again.
- to have a creative outlet while Mr. Deem is deployed.
- to document my life.
- to remember my past.
- to give readers hope in hard life circumstances I've learned or am in the process of learning from.
- to give God glory for the constant pursuit of His broken child and the crazy-loving way He provides for my family!
So that's why I'm writing! I know at times in the future, I will again be shocked at my lack of understanding in my younger self. I'll panic and be embarrassed by my foolishness. But, I'm praying for boldness and creativity. My hope is that what I write will be useful, inspiring or at least interesting to those that read.