In my head I have written at least a hundred blogs, ranging from child rearing do's and don'ts to church membership~ perils and perks. It has been a busy season in my brain and some of those blogs have been stellar!
The problem is not thinking or being opinionated, it is placing the thoughts on paper(or for the sake of modern technology...scribbling on the screen) and letting a few people view the reality of my brain waves. Some would say , "well who reads the blogs anyhow?" and have a valid argument. Others might say, " well those who know you already know how and what you think ". Again, a fairly accurate statement.
However, my problem has been and always will be , that my honest to goodness thinking process is mainly about my children, my grandchildren, my husband who is no more, my mom, my sisters, my brother and my friends. Pretty much my world consists of my people population and most of them are still able to read, some are able to access my web site, and some even read my thoughts, if available.
There is the quandry. I may be thinking dramatically or inaccurately, or temporarily, or stupidly or emotionally, or irrationally. I may not be processed. I may be the nectar straight from the stamin of the flower before the worker bee has taken it back to the hive. The honey maker has not yet refined it into honey and the bad junk been removed, processing done, and the final product on the shelf.
Yup, I am the worker bee going after the deliciously complex flavors within the deep colors of the flower garden. I want the good stuff that comes from flying by some flowers and zeroing in on certain particularly interesting others. They all are fine, I am just getting fussy and a bit choosy as I age.
I like, for instance, Queen Anne's Lace almost as much as the Gardenia. One has no scent whatsoever and one is as fragrant as I have ever sniffed. For crying out loud, Queen Anne's Lace doesn't even have any nectar!
If I write in symbolism and metaphors and change names to protect the innocent or guilty, depending on my thoughts, will they still love me?
Am I loved no matter how I think?
Will anything change if I put words to my thoughts?
What happens if I don't edit my thoughts a million times and just verbalize them?
Regarding President's Day:
What happens if I say out loud, I like President Obama, but dislike his policies and abhor his stance that makes him look like his claim of being a Christian is ridiculously shallow and embarrassing to others of us claiming to know Christ?
What will happen if I say the earliest President I remember is Dwight D Eisenhower and even then I have no memory of much else in politics until in junior high school when my history class was interrupted by an announcement to pray for our President because he had been shot?
Will people love me less if I admit that I am trusting God for this country more than I am trusting the political men and women who think they are so important to it's running?
Would anyone be surprised if when I started writing this post I was frozen in fear of foolishness and then my fingers started typing faster than my brain works?
Do President's birthdays deserve us taking a day off work in our country, when my own children are barely recognized, even by family, and are so much more important to my world?
Tomorrow the baby flower in my life garden turns 24~ his young life in the balance of his own decision making choices. He makes my garden vibrant with his colorful presence, and as bold as the red dahlias that bloom among the quieter pansies in my front yard all summer. I missed my dahlias last summer, buying the less expensive and less work intensive chrysanthemums. Surely they produced all summer, but where the outright JOY! and Flair!? Nope, I need the vibrancy of the dahlia and whether or not it costs more is too bad- it must be in my daily vision as I exit the house to go into the world outside. I must see it as I drive up my street, waving colorfully in my yard as I enter the haven of home. One needs color. One needs variety and vitality.
Just as necessary, though, are the flowerless hostas, who adorn my sidewalk faithfully, requiring no work at all. I need stability and calm, gentleness and faithfulness.
Presidents, people, pansies, pain....see how my mind churns around?
It takes work to be honest, the work of a worker bee in God's garden of life.
I am just going to end today's Blog with this: At 61 years of age, with death, divorce and debt in my rear view mirror...I am still looking forward to the road trip ahead. Buzzing along without the security of a hive . Yikes, hope I didn't sting you as I flew past today.
