I've certainly been to a number of events in the last year. I've volunteered in the clinic to play games with the patients. I continued to facilitate the Dreams Events for Kyle's Kamp. I've stood in front of groups of people to thank them for raising money for Children's Hospital Foundation through those events. I've read updates online of children I've met. I've typed out pathetically inadequate "I'm so sorry" comments on the posts of grieving mamas accompanied by yellow hearts and praying hands emojis which seem utterly ridiculous - shamefully, woefully, superbly lame efforts to remind them, "I'm still here. I still read your words. I still hold you close."
So, although I haven't been entirely absent, I've not taken time to sit and write reflections for this blog which was really the first task that I was asked to do for Kyle's Kamp. There are a zillion reasonable explanations for this absence. I have a husband and a household to run. I have three kids who need to be here and there and everywhere all at the same time. I had the not-small matter of a son who graduated this year and went away to college. We have family events and travel and sports obligations. We have mundane tasks to accomplish, challenges to tackle and joyful moments to celebrate. These people are the ones God has entrusted to me and they need me and my attention.
And those are all logical, perfectly good reasons to lessen my time in this effort.
But perhaps the truth is that it's much more than that schedule that keeps me away from this space. Sitting down to write requires something different of me. For me, writing equals feeling. It forces me to search deep and think hard and imagine myself in someone else's shoes. Writing is listening to that still, small voice that says to me, "This is what I need you to learn in this life. This is where you need to act. This is what you are not allowed to forget."
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