The blank page stares at me. A blank life looms ahead. What will form on the page? What will form of my life?

I’ve missed you. I haven’t written in so long. Where shall I begin? What do you want to know of my life? To me, my life seems small, ordinary. Although no life can be small if God is in it, right? And throughout the ups and downs God has been with me.

Is my dad’s death still affecting me? I don’t know. I really don’t think so. I know he’s where he’s supposed to be. With God. I know he was beginning to suffer at 90. I never wanted him to suffer. I’m happy he’s in heaven. I’m happy that my remarkable mom is handling his absence with the grace she has always handled whatever has come her way.

And my mom is remarkable. I think of my mom sitting in her little room in assisted living making the best of her circumstance and then I think of me wondering what is to become of my life. Why haven’t I been writing if I consider myself a writer? Am I supposed to make a splash in the world of writing or are the small ripples enough? Enough for whom?

I used to want to make it big in writing. I’ve written manuscripts and poetry that few have seen. But why did I want to make it big? For whose glory? If God wants me to write He will give me the words. If He gives me but an audience of one that is enough. I want to share my story. And most recently my story centers around my home.

This diamond in the rough bought 15 years ago was in grave need of an overhaul. I had all but given up thinking that it would ever receive the proper attention it deserved. But then a little thing called money happened upon us. And lo and behold a kitchen with real cherry dovetailed drawers was not only conceived in my mind but actualized. The hideous lone bathroom shared by six adults was ripped out and put back together again – only this time pretty. I like pretty.

I’ve painted every room but one downstairs. And I would never tell my men what color I was choosing for any wall before I painted it. Why? Because they just wouldn’t get it. I’m a girl, a woman, a female. I live with creatures who adore watching Swamp People, Pawn Stars and American Pickers. I didn’t want to be deflated so I wouldn’t reveal one tint, one shade until I rolled it on the walls. Before I painted the first stroke the room was completely finished in my mind. Throughout this entire process I knew one thing: God was with me. I felt Him steadying my hand as the turquoise paint edged nearer the white ceiling. I never use masking tape. I’m REALLY careful. Or, better stated, “We’re” really careful, God and I. Thankfully I never fell off the ladder. That’s a plus! Not even when I was perched on the ladder in the bathtub. There He was watching over me, probably chuckling at the sight.

So maybe I haven’t written much about God in the past several months but that doesn’t mean I haven’t talked to Him, prayed to Him, laughed with Him, begged Him to see me through painting just one more ceiling. When life around me seemed in utter turmoil, when none of us could find anything as nothing was where it belonged, as we hauled more and more of our seemingly useless junk to storage units and back again, I was comforted by the sure knowledge that I was where I was supposed to be, doing what I was supposed to do, cradled in this really strong pair of hands. That much I knew. Will I become a well-known writer? That I do not know. I just know I love to write to you about Him. It’s good to be back.

Copyright 2011 Maureen Locher