On Writing. . .

I wore a tiny canary-yellow costume, high heels, pearls, and a feather boa, as I recall. I thought of myself as an athlete and a vocalist, not a dancer of any sort, certainly not one who would wear a sleeveless yellow leotard. I was totally self-conscious on stage dancing in that tiny little get-up, but somehow I got through singing and dancing that number in "Guys and Dolls" for a few nights in high school. Writing my blog feels a lot like dancing in front of hundreds of people in yellow leotard with a feather boa. I feel uncomfortable and exposed and a little bit indulgent, but right now, in spite of the discomfort, I am compelled to write.

The beauty of Australia inspires me to take up the pen (or really the keyboard), as a way to process it and as a way to share it with those I have left on distant shores. This place has a hold on me that is difficult to describe. I love the presence of the ocean, and the smell of the minty gum tree canopy. I love the forests of mangroves and palms that sway in the coastal breezes. I live for the sunsets and driving into the hills, for standing under purple trees and smelling lazy brooks. I love the feel of my muscles hardening as I glow, cycling up and down the steep hills with my little helmeted girls in tow. I never realized I was so outdoorsy until I came here. The magnitude of the splendor here cannot be expressed in online photo albums and facebook posts. The harsh ruggedness of the land and the straightforwardness and generosity of the people are like nothing I have ever experienced before.


Every day in different ways, Australia becomes more a part of me. Living here is such a gorgeous experience, both visually and emotionally that not writing would be like keeping a 75% off sale at the Gap secret. It is not yet my second homeland, but Australia is fast becoming my home. Being here is bringing out beauty in me. The process I am undergoing feels like the process of turning a raw chunk of wood into a piece of furniture. Bits have to be removed and reworked. The process of refining what I am cannot be accomplished without the pain of loneliness and the sensations of loss that have been my companions in this journey. In furniture making wood must be cut and sanded and oiled to bring the potential to fruition. In my life, the further I am into this experience, the more I see the useless bits removed and beauty revealed, not physical beauty, of course, but strength and character that might otherwise remain hidden under layers of materialism, misplaced value, or insecurity. I guess hardship that refines could happen anywhere, but for me, it is happening here. When I leave, a piece of my heart will remain here, and I will take a piece of Australia with me wherever I go. I write to catalogue this process.

I write for Greg, who is my constant companion on this adventure in Australia; I write as an offering to him, a thanks for all the hard work that he does, that he has done nearly since we have been married, so that I have the opportunity be a full-time wife and mom, devoting myself, to loving him and nurturing our home and training our girls for whatever their destinies may be, to the exclusion of a paying job for the time being. I don't write about Greg very often because he is a fairly private person and because I believe marriage is sacred; but I do mention him from time to time because he is and has been my rock. He will show up in my writing as he draws me back to truth and reason. He is the mirror to my life in which I see myself as I am. Through his eyes, I see the beauty and the darkness that coexist in me and I know that he loves me in spite of my flaws. In a world that devalues manly men, men of strength, integrity and courage, in a world that has placed Homer Simpson on its throne as a distorted, goofy, pseudo-ideal of a "good" man, in this one space, let me turn the tide and give honor to true masculinity in the form of my own quiet husband, peaceful and temperate, imperfect, but still my hero.


Here in Oz, and wherever I may be, my family is and will be one of my most important priorities. This blog exists in part so that my girls will read how this pilgrimage was a blessing and a chance for us as a family to grow as we experience new ways to live. I write for Jordan, Meryl, and Micah Jade, so that when they are grown, and when my hair is streaked with gray, my girls will be able to look back through my eyes and see in my writing, reflections of my love for them as a young mother, a mother who prayed for them and cycled with them and baked birthday cakes and laughed and dreamed. I write so that they will have a record of the beach and the bikes and the blessings that are our Australian experience. I write about our everyday life so that when they are older, they will know as I am discovering, that there is no greater adventure than family life, whether it is lived out in Texas or in a foreign country.



I write before God to give him the credit he deserves in my life. I believe that God is totally good and He is the source of everything that is good in my life. I write about nature as a way of praising and enjoying his creativity, and I write about my family as a way of thanking him for the gift of people to cherish. Daily, I feel his approval as I love the people He has given me in practical ways, ways like like cooking, cleaning, disciplining, teaching, listening. The total goodness of God reveals my inadequacies and shortcomings, but He is not finished with me yet. God has a plan to bring good things out of my life, and He is accomplishing that plan through my being in Australia. I hope that each day, as I acknowledge Him in ways big and small, that he will reflect more and more brightly in my life, the love that he has for my family and for this world.


I really have so many reasons to write-- for the beauty of Australia, for my friends and family, to thank God, but as much as any other reason, I started this blog as a way of chasing dreams. I have wanted to write for the past 10 years or so, but I have been a terrible perfectionist. I never could muster the courage to start until now. If I am honest, I must confess that I hope to some day write books, books that inspire people and call them to believe--books that talk about meaning and tell the truth about God and love and identity. It feels scary to write that big hope out, but that's the honest truth. I really like the concept of a blog because blogging, as opposed to journaling with pen and paper, means that I can take a few friends with me. As I continue to blog, with people who care about me cheering me on, I practice a skill I tabled more than a decade ago when the perfectionist in me won, for a time. Every time I sit down to articulate my ideas and thoughts, I prove to myself that the world will not collapse if I own a few mistakes in my thinking, living, or writing. I still get nervous every time I get ready to press the publish button, but every time that I click that little button anyway, a little bit more of that inhibited perfectionist that has ruled my thoughts and killed my enjoyment for so long dies. If I wasn't fighting perfectionism, I would be aiming for the total annihilation of my enemy, but as my adversary demands perfection, I will have to be content with the near-destruction of my old adversary--perfectionism-- through writing. To those of you who read, thanks for taking this important journey with me. It's nice to have company while I write about the beauty and meaning of my here and now, and in writing, chase the far-off dreams of someday.