Thanks to my wonderfully amazing code-savvy husband, I got a brand new blog design for my birthday. 

It's still a work in progress, but I really wanted the new look up for my birthday which is in just a few short hours.

So….what do you think?

I started my first diary when I was seven. It was bright red with a little lock and key of course.

I’ve kept some kind of journal ever since.

If you stack them all up on each other they probably stand at least three feet high.

Journals of childhood, teenage drama, young romance, beginnings of marriage, new baby….

Writing has always been a part of me.

I wrote a “novel” when I was eleven or twelve.

I have more than one book full of poems. Some melancholy and dramatic, others silly and pointless.

A three ring binder filled with the creative writing of my junior high days. High school and college research papers. Being consumed by topics like the Great Depression one paper; the next making a case for why a movie like Clueless is pertinent to life.

I spent two semesters of my college career in creative writing classes. Honestly it was a little unsettling discovering whose company I would be placing myself in if I wanted to label myself as a “writer”.

Then marriage and babies….life happened and I found myself reverting back to where I had begun. The pages of my journal. That’s where all of my writing happened for several years.

Then came the discovery of the blog.

And all of a sudden my five minutes of writing here and there didn’t have to only be for me. It could be shared.

It didn’t have to flow like a book. It could be in the tone of a conversation. The rules of grammar need not apply.  Instant feedback was available without leaving my house.

I had found my niche.

And I’ve been quite comfortable in it ever since.

But lately, there’s been this pull. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I find myself a bit uneasy with my willingness to write lazy chatter most days. It is fun, and I know it’s fun to read because I love reading other people’s chatter.

But I know I’m capable of more than that. My mind is constantly overflowing with heavy, huge things that I know I should sit down and try to put into words. But I don’t. Because it would be work. And I just don’t really want to try that hard.

When I think of writing, really writing, in a way that is my best and not just what pours out with little to no effort, I always think of these words:

There's nothing to writing. 
All you do is sit down at a typewriter and open a vein. 
~Walter Wellesley "Red" Smith

That is what really writing can be like to me. And I’ve found that I just don’t want to go there.

Yet I am feeling pulled to go there.

I’ve been reading through the Old Testament the last few months. Slowly, trying to really pay attention and not just cover ground.

Recently this is the verse that caught my eye:

He (God) has filled them with skill to do all manner of work of the engraver and the designer and the tapestry maker, in blue, purple, and scarlet thread, and fine linen, and of the weaver—those who do every work and those who design artistic works.
Exodus 35:35

This verse is talking about the craftsmen whom God has equipped with the skills needed to build the Tabernacle according to His specifications.

The thing that got me was this: these are not “holy” gifts. They are creative and beautiful gifts, but not what I, in my know it all judgment, would consider “spiritual” gifts.

But these are the gifts that God had given these people to do His work for His glory.

What if they had put off using them because it would be too much work?

Within days of reading that verse I read this.

And it spoke exactly of where I have been. Talking myself out of art. Deciding that I don’t have what it takes. Not even considering that it might be more than just my idea.

After that I read this.

And had to say yes to every. single. one.

I have believed all of these things. The ones that echoed my thoughts the loudest:

People might not like it.
I might look like a fool.
Someone else can do it better.
I have nothing to offer.
It’s too much work.

And now here I sit, with all of my excuses exposed. The truth of my laziness being about more than me revealed.

And I still don’t really want to try.

Because it still sounds like opening up a vein.

But I thought maybe, if I put this confession out there, it might be the beginning of something.

So I know I've been absent around here for awhile. 

The truth?

I was upset with my computer.

I started a post eleven days ago, using a precious half an hour in the middle of an insanely busy week, all to tell you about this little flower, and how it came to be, and the intense spiritual revelation I had while creating it. 

Sometimes writing here is hard work, and I have to really think. But sometimes, the words just pour out without any real conscious effort on my part. And those are always the best words.

My post, about my little flower, was one of those. Full of words.

I finished, it was perfect, I hit publish. 

And the internet connection disappeared. 

And with it, my words.

Now again, the truth?

I cried. Like a child who had their favorite toy taken away from them. I cried and cried and texted my husband in the middle of my hysteria begging him to tell me a way to get it back.

Cheers for him, he has learned a lot in handling my emotional meltdowns. He called and just said "I'm so sorry". It didn't fix anything, but it made me feel better. 

Anyway, the irony of it all was that my whole spiritual lightbulb while working on this little flower was a realization that sometimes, even when God has given me a wonderful gift, I still just can't be happy. Like my children, I see the gift and I want it. But it's not enough; I want more too.

I realized it when I cried over my inability to crochet a flower, when I questioned what the point even was, and my husband calmly and clearly explained it's a gift.

It's a gift that I can sit in the middle of my living room floor on a Tuesday night with my three girls and my husband, watching a silly movie and attempting to crochet.

But I couldn't crochet right, so I lost all sight of the gift.

And Friday morning, it was a gift that I could lay in my bed while my girls enjoyed cartoons and my husband went off to work to provide for us and all I had to do was be here. I could write on my laptop in my bed in my warm house with the anticipation of a satisfying breakfast to come.

It was a gift. 

But when my words were lost, I lost all sight of the gift. I saw the one thing that wasn't what I wanted.

And I knew even in the middle of my meltdown, that I was falling again into the very thing that I had been writing about.  It was tragic.

Do you ever do that? Upset because of  something, but more upset about the fact that you're upset? That's me most of the time.

So anyway, silly as it may sound, I was a bit like a wounded lover, and it's taken me awhile to forgive the loss and come back and try again.

But I'm finally here. Hopefully my internet won't betray me again anytime soon! Or even better, maybe I can learn the lesson of appreciating a gift, whatever it's form.

I know you’ve all be waiting to here about my most fabulous adventure.

I met The Pioneer Woman.

In case you’re unaware, her blog was named one of the top 25 blogs of 2009.

So, yes.  She’s famous. And I got to meet her.

Me and a few others of course…

My mom and I decided to brave the crowd.  All I can say is, if you are going to pack hundreds of people into a small confined space, please keep the AC going.  I’m generally not a hot person, and I felt completely smothered by the stagnent air.  And I thought the poor middle aged woman sitting next me was going to have an injury from fanning herself so intensely.  (not my mom. we couldn’t get seats together, so I sat next a different middle aged woman)

One sidenote: I was really amazed how many men were there.  Maybe it was all just supportive husbands.  Who knows?

Anyway, while I was sitting in the crowd waiting for her to make her grand appearance I was thinking: celebrity-ish bloggers are SO much better than Hollywood celebrities.  I know there are a lot of you out there that feel like you know your favorite celebrity (ahem, Alisha…) but really all you know is what People magazine wants you to think about your favorite celebrity.

But with a blogger, you really, truly know them.  Every single thing you know about them came straight from their lips.  Of course there are some things they probably don’t tell you, but still… You have a way more intimate look into their life than a normal celebrity.

And that is why meeting Ree was the biggest deal ever.  Because I know her.

Don’t laugh, but I almost teared up when she walked out.  Crazy, I know.

So, she did this little Q & A time, which was fun. 

She shared very openly about how she gained ten pounds while writing the cookbook.

And about how Marlboro Man is real comfortable with all of her readers being obsessed with him.

And that she has never used a slow-cooker.  (this one really shocked me)

AND, that she is in the process of writing a new book… Black Heels to Tractor Wheels!!!

It was great.  She was great.  But we still needed to meet her.

After the Q & A, the wait began.

The line was long and extremely slow moving.

Then they announced that people with small children get priority because it was getting late.

We quickly called my sister who was entertaining my small children at the Baskin Robbins a couple of doors down and told her we needed them back.

With Miss I planted firmly on my hip we joined the line.

That’s when we got to meet Missy.

She was really sweet and fun to talk to.  She was going around taking pictures while Ree signed a million copies of her cookbook.

And that would be how my mom and I ended up on Confessions of a Pioneer Woman!!! (scroll down to the picture of the cute little blonde girl.  Yes that’s us waiting patiently in line behind her.) Can you believe it??? I know you’re jealous!

But now, the tragedy.

What Missy really wanted was to take a picture of Miss I.  Because she is really beautiful.  I was conjuring up visions of the most adorable girl in the world making her debut across the Pioneer Woman’s pages.

Missy walked up sweetly with the camera and said “can I take your picture?”

And Miss I…went off like a siren, screaming like there was no tomorrow.

All my dreams, shattered.

Of course five minutes later when mine was the only camera in sight, the crying stopped…

Of course she decided to be all cute and sweet then, when it was too late for stardom.

I kind of wanted to shake her and tell her “Do you know that you just missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime!?!!?”

But I didn’t. Because she’s two, and she really doesn’t give a rip about PW.

As you can see, when our turn finally came.

As my mom and I fell all over Ree (somewhat literally thanks to the speed with which they were moving us all along), Miss I was completely unimpressed.

Oh well.

Ree told me “hi”.  And I said “hi”.  And that was it. 

Don’t you wish you were there?