So even though words have been your closest friends over the years, you can't help wondering what in all the world they matter. Like those unmatched socks in the basket, pen and paper help you to match things up. Make sense of the world. Sort out your heart. Make it all slow enough for you to take a real breath.
Why does God make folks a certain way?
You know I teach a writing class. Tell my kids never to write in fragments. (smiling) I've had students who love to write, but haven't met one yet that needs to write. Write to live. To stay alive in there. But I remember Mrs. Nixon teaching high school ecology when I was but fourteen years old. "Miss LeMieux!" Hand on hip. Southern accent. "You 'bout finished with that novel? You gonna be a writer or somethin' 'cause ya'll are always writin' somethin'." Not notes. Not not paying attention, but writing my heart down to hold the world still. Trying to find my niche, as she would say.
So it comes to this. Learning how to trust who God made you to be even if lots of folks don't really get it.
Do you know how many times I have been called weird? So what? Who cares? You really gonna keep hiding your light under that bed?
In a world that needs all it can get?