I am currently enrolled in a course that is designed to help us ole bloggers improve our content and become more intentional writers, and in so doing, grow our following. My assignment today was to write a blog post about the core of what River and Quill is about.
I looked back at some of my old posts and, yes, I make it clear that this is a place for those with chronic disease to feel safe and encouraged. However, I’ve been wrestling with the purpose of my writing for a few days now, and it’s a bit more than simply talking about chronic disease.
Writing itself has been healing. It has always been my refuge. I suppose, then, I realized that as I wrote, I healed, and in that, I learned about a part of myself that I needed you all to know, so that you could meet the part of yourself that you could know, and know deeply, so that you could heal as well.
When I say heal, I do mean physically, but it digs deeper. Healing is emotional too, yes, but it jumps further. Healing is learning to be: who you are, who you were created to be and dancing in the fullness of it.
There is loveliness in healing.
There is this coming back to what you were created to be that escapes the boundaries of the mundane and propels you into a spirit of wholeness, beyond your body, beyond your struggle, and even beyond what you can cognitively understand.
Other than meeting my children for the first time, I have never witnessed something so breathtaking and vibrant.
I am also writing to all of you, not as someone who has it all figured out, but as someone who is with you in the trenches, still trying to regain my footing. Because every single stinking time I think I’m out of it, I realize there’s another something I have to figure out.
That’s life though. One something after another something after another something. It’s up to us if we make those somethings into something worth living or we let them turn into something that meant nothing.
I am here to try to find the beautiful in the something that doesn’t seem so beautiful. I’m here to share my own struggles, so that I can meet you in yours. Mostly though, I’m here to write. It’s my escape. And hopefully in those ramblings, as I share my story, my life, and my perceptions of the somethings, I can help you find purpose and hope in the midst of whatever something you are in.