Feels like home.

When I write, something happens. It's like everything I'm feeling somehow makes its way from my heart...err...brain into my hands and onto paper-or for this millennium, a computer screen. When I'm drowning in all that I'm feeling, writing feels like home to me. And truth be told, only a few things actually feel like home to me. Being with my husband feels like home. Teaching students feels like home. Walking into Wiregrass Church feels like home. Worshipping the the Holy God who never ceases to absolutely blow my mind, feels like home. Sometimes only the written word can adequately convey truly what I'm feeling. Why is that? Why is it that when I want to say what really needs to be said, all I can do is think about how much better it would be if I could write it all down. And I guess, in the end, I can. Albeit, sometimes it's a little too late, nonetheless, my thoughts make it down on paper. So this blog will be my outlet, and if I'm the only one who ever reads it, that's perfectly fine with me, because somewhere between the capital letters and periods is my heart, comforted by the feeling of home.