And the stars began to burn

Sometimes I have a hard time with the idea of my keeping a blog. A big part of this, I think, is simply not thinking I have anything worthwhile to offer. I don’t offer a unique story or perspective, there is nothing special or interesting about my life. I’m just a stay-at-home-mom. And a struggling one at that. I’m not even one of those supermoms. You know the type- the ones who are always getting things done- like baking and crafting and homeschooling and housekeeping and photographing and activities and traveling and sometimes even working as well. Honestly, I love looking at these blogs and drawing inspiration from them, but the thought of leading that kind of busy lifestyle myself is exhausting.

So here I am. A homebody. Trying to write something on the internet on a more or less regular basis. Trying to keep my kids fed and dressed, my marriage progressing, my house in a cleanish state more often than not. Trying to adult and mother and be married and  be a good friend and live a good life. Its just a normal and often quiet life.

And its not like I have any thing figured out either. So I wonder: “Who am I to write a blog? Who on earth is going to care about my little musing and my little family?”

But because I don’t think I have anything worthwhile or interesting or unique to say and share is, perhaps, the biggest reason for me to continue writing and sharing. In writing my thoughts and sharing pieces of my life I’m giving myself a voice. This blog isn’t for anyone but myself, and maybe the biggest thing I’ll learn is to exercise my right to have a voice, because my voice matters.

I’m reminded of a poem I recently came across.

The Journey
by Mary Oliver
One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

One thought on “And the stars began to burn

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