Well, it's about time I write. I find that the times when I have the most to say are the times that I want to write the least. I am sad that I went the last semester of my college career, my wonderful internship, without hardly writing at all about the amazing things that were happening around me and inside of me.
It's a shame that I didn't write about how I had been called to stay in this area, and I took a step of faith and rooted myself in this area. It's a shame I didn't write about how God faithfully provided me a job that society told me I wasn't supposed to get, because Russellville doesn't hire new grads. It's a shame I didn't write about this, because it would have been nice to remind myself of why the heck I am here.
It's a shame I haven't written about how I met a guy at my old roommate's wedding, and how as bridesmaid and groomsman we walked down the aisle together, and how this guy is now my boyfriend, and living across the world. It's too bad I didn't write about the start of our relationship, because I will want to remember that, not only later, but right now, when he's miles and time zones away, and I haven't seen him in three months.
It's a shame how I haven't written about my job as an 8th grade English teacher, and how it is not at all what I thought it would be, or what I wanted it to be. It's a shame that I haven't written a lot since I started teaching English, because I now use more run-on sentences than ever, and many times I'm too lazy to add punctuation to my text messages.
My world is so up in the air right now, and yet everything about my life seems to be sitting still.
I'm taking a pastoral ministry class at my church, and we're supposed to be keeping a journal, writing at least one entry per week. The class started in September, and I think I've written two entries in a journal. It's about time I become a better student.
I kept a blog all through college. But it's a new season. I'm not a college kid anymore. I have a salary and pay bills and have Health Insurance go to bed at 10 pm. Last spring, 8th graders saw me as "cool." Now, 8th graders see me the same as they see my 50-year-old co-workers: grown-up and boring. It wouldn't be fitting to write in the same blog I wrote in as a 19-year-old college freshman. No, it's time for a new blog.
So here it is. Title? Confessions of an 8th Grade Teacher Who Looks Like an 8th Grader? The Life of a Long-Distance Relationship? Roots and Buds. That's what this season is about....roots and buds.
