How a Life Makes Sense

Days, months, years go by with increasing speed.  Memories fade, unless I put it on the page.  Memories like the time one of our boys was two and we had friends over for dinner.  He keep ambling from one end of the table to the other, opening his mouth wide, waiting for a bite from anyone.  After a couple of times my friend turns and asks him if he is a little bird.  To which his prompt response is to put his arms in the chicken wing position and affirms with - “tweet, tweet". 

Other memories are times when the hurt runs deep.  Relationships end and questions of why dangle.  How does one work out the pain?

“I write not to make art, but to make sense.”  Julia writes. 
She also says, “Writing is a means of prayer…It opens the door to God.  Writing is a spiritual housekeeper.  Writing sets things straight, giving us a sense of our true priorities.” 

When I write I feel connected with God.  Listening to His voice as I put pencil to page copying Scripture and composing prayers and poems.  Writing is how I work out my emotions.  It is how I remember the good times and struggle through the difficult.  Writing helps me makes sense of my life.   I wrote this poem last year and as I read these chapters it kept coming to my mind.

Dots…

My life is a sequence of dots…
Not really a series of starts and stops…
One season linking to the next…
Newborn…small child…child of God…
Young woman…married young woman…
Bride of the King…Married young mother…
Mother of six… mother of teenagers…
Woman of faith…I spied God…
Connecting the dots of my life…

--Nancy Kourmoulis

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Related posts:
HCB Writing as Prayer
L.L.’s Excuse Me, I’m WRITE-ing
Melo’s The Day You Keep and Day 28 & 29
Glynn’s Because It Matters
Cassandra's The River