Over the course of my forty-nine years, I have written many stories, published two, and have three more manuscripts with an agent. And yet they are not my most prized words. If my house were burning down (and my family was safe--including the guinea pigs) what would I grab and take with me? My journals, my letters "Home." I wish for everyone to have such a Sinai, such a sacred grove, such a meeting place as I have had with my Father in the pages of my journal, which have become, as it were, the very tissues of my heart.
If you choose to venture here, please ". . . put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground" (Exodus 3:5).
(This blog is really intended for a mother to stay connected with her daughters who are far away, for a sister who sorely misses her all-but-twin, and to some choice friends.)