People constantly ask why I do this. Why I drag my butt out of bed at this ungodly hour every morning and write my little stories.
I do it selfishly, of course. I do it because I know that if I do, I will have a record of all the moments – good and bad – that would otherwise fade from memory. I will have a running marker of progress – a reminder of how far we’ve come. And a gift to my girls when someday we’re all ready to tackle it together. A chronicle of their childhoods.
I do it for the sense of community. I do it because when I tell you that you’re not alone, it’s undeniable that I’m not either.
I do it for the conversation. For the support. For the love that flows here for my girls, for each other, and for all of our children. For the ideas and suggestions, the fervent prayers and the raucous celebrations.
And those would be reasons enough.
But there’s something else.
There’s the possibility, no matter how slim, that my little stories might reach the Emilies.
The following is a note from a woman I’ve never met in person, but whom, thanks to years of online dialogue, I’d be quick to call a friend.
Her name is Emily.
I just wanted to tell you thank you for teaching me…and since I don’t know the rest of your community, I will tell you. I was at Trader Joes today. There were huge lines at the checkout and I saw a mom with a boy about 13-14 who was wearing headphones and who after reading so many stories I knew was as you say “one of ours” but I felt like he was one of mine and so was his momma.
At any rate, all that you write and say and all that your friends write and say gave me (a shy person by nature) the ability to go up to her and offer to let her get in front of me if it would be easier for her to get out of the hectic store quickly. She thanked me and said sometimes it would be but right now we are in a good place so no thank you.
I wouldn’t have done it before you. I would have thought about it, but wouldn’t have wanted to intrude. So thank you for that.
And now I’m crying. Thank YOU.
Please don’t feel pressured — TRULY — but would you be willing to allow me to share this?
if it makes one other person step out of their comfort zone to try and help someone else by all means…ripples right?
oh for heaven’s sake, now you’re just showing off.
love you girl.
I write because I am convinced that the world is full of Emilies. Of people who — if they knew, if they recognized what they saw — would ask the question.
So I get up.
Knowing that they’re out there.
Knowing that the more we talk, the more Emilies we will reach.
And the more the world will change for our kids.
One grocery line at a time.
Thank you, Em.