I’ve always been a storyteller. I was the kid who sat at the table and listened to all the family stories. I was fascinated by what had happened before I was born because I had an innate sense it had somehow made me…me. I’ve told you all before, my mom always said I had the “gift of gab”. I always thought that meant I was doing something wrong. I was too loud, too talkative, too…much. Now I see it as my gift.

God gives us all gifts. Sometimes we envy others their special gifts. How many times have you wished you could dance or play the piano or sing beautifully but you have two left feet with short fingers and can’t carry a tune in a washtub? I used to. I didn’t believe I had anything to offer the world. I couldn’t figure out, other than my beautiful daughters, what I was put here to do. I’ve tried my hand at writing at various points in my life, but it was never the right time. I did co-author a book on Gestational Diabetes for the National Institutes of health back in the “80s, but that wasn’t all that creative. I just wrote about my job as a Diabetes Educator.

Just like playing the piano, your craft improves the more you do it. I’ve been writing a journal for much of the past 17 years. At first, it was really boring. I’d write down what I did that day or what I fixed for supper. Eventually, I loosened up and started exploring my inner self. I started reaching into the past and telling stories. I started digging, like an emotional archaeologist, and picked out those sore places in my heart and soul. I began to write poetry and short stories. I wrote a children’s book using creative visualization.

Journaling helped me get through the darkest time of my life when I was clinically depressed. It helped me figure out how to navigate a sticky divorce. It documented the great love that grew with Mr. Virgo. And, it helped me share with you here what that loss has been like for me. There is power in words. There is healing…not only in the writing itself, but in the sharing. When you suffer a profound experience in your life, like the death of your beloved, finding out there are others out there going through the same thing is incredibly validating. Knowing what you’re going through is normal (or a variation thereof) is quite liberating.

I encourage everyone to keep a journal. It may not win a Pulitzer. It may not ever see the light of day. But it can be incredibly therapeutic. Write down your thoughts. Start a blog. Write poetry. My computer is my canvas…my keyboard the brush…my thoughts the paint. What I write may not be art, but it is the key that unlocked MY prison. Go to a bookstore and pick out a beautiful journal. Get one that speaks to you. Buy a couple of really great pens. Pour your heart out on those pages. It’s good therapy and it’s pretty cheap! ❤️

“And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased.”
‭‭Hebrews‬ ‭13:16‬ ‭NIV‬‬