When I was six I created a precursor to the modern day blog. It was my own little “all about me” book — created in a drawing pad, not as a school assignment, but simply because I wanted to be heard. To be known. I wanted to share my thoughts and feelings, my doodles, the things that were important to me; but I wasn’t sure anyone wanted to hear. Undeterred, I created. I listed my demographic information and confessed that I was “ankshous” to start 2nd grade. I drew a picture of my pet and the family room clock on the wall paper it adorned. Pictures. Thoughts. Feelings. Nothing special, and yet, all a happy-go-lucky little six year old girl understood of the world was represented in that early “blog.”
As the fifth daughter I think I often felt unimportant. Like my offerings and concerns were somehow “little” and insignificant as compared to the older girls, and certainly the adults in my world. When I was 6, my sisters would have been 10, 13, 17 and 19 — worlds away! I imagine I felt small, incompetent and sometimes invisible is their accomplished shadows. I remember a family trip to Six Flags. While everyone else road a thrill ride, I went to the petting zoo. No matter how tall I stood, I did not reach the pointing finger. Too short to ride.
I kept drawing and writing. I loved cameras, magic markers, and paper dolls. I made up games and taught school to my dolls and stuffed animals — until about middle school. For some reason “art” became frivolous. Academics reigned. I learned to hide bits of myself and tailor other parts to better meet perceived expectations. I was more serious, less spontaneous. More accomplished, less known. More inhibited, less free.
But now, I’m almost 50! I’ve lived a lot of tears. Tears of joy, love, devastation and pain. I’ve got a little gray around the temples to testify to a bit of wisdom gained. I’ve forgotten Calculus, Fortran and Physics, but not my earliest passions and desires. Perhaps that little girl’s 1970 blog holds some answers for what it means for this woman to reflect the image of God to those He chooses. Now that I’m assured I am known and loved by Him, I am again free to share with others, without so much fear of what they’ll say or think — or even whether they will be interested. I can give freely of myself, without needing anything in return. For He is all I ever wanted and meets all my needs.