Born to

“Don’t forget- no one else sees the world the way you do, so no one else can tell the stories that you have to tell.” -Charles de Lint

I believe everyone was born to do something. My mother was born to touch others in the sweetest southern way, with bread and butter pickles and peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. The checker at the Harris Teeter and the mail clerk know her name. “Hey Julie, how you doin’ honey?” She was born for this warmth and ease with people.

My sister was born to be an artist. Walk into her home, and it’s resplendent with jewel tones, repurposed furniture, antiques, and art from around the world. It is all just-so, darling and homey at the same time.

And me? I was born to do two things: sing and write. I’ve always known both, since I was an itty bitty girl singing Someday My Prince Shall Come with great fervor to my parents and writing poetry about life’s meaning at age seven. (I’ve always been a little intense, I guess.) Music and writing have always been there, like a steady thrumming backbeat through the changes and seasons of my life.

Writing holds an element of fear for me. There’s this uncomfortable, squirmy feeling I’ve tried to shake off for most of my twenties that no one wants to hear my story, that others misunderstand the odd journey of my life or judge me for it, that my story isn’t worth writing. But I’m learning, slowly, that each person’s story is beautiful, worthy and worth telling. That each viewpoint is valuable and can lend hope to others who might be struggling to hold on. And that, really, others’ opinions don’t matter. And so, this blog. It will be a little bit of my story. A little bit of new-born faith, a little bit of feminism, a little bit of what it’s like finishing college at 28 with 18-22 year olds, a little bit of re-starting a new life in my mid-twenties, and a lot of love. A lot of grace, hope and peace.

Come along with me for this soul-filled, beautiful, messy journey of life.