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Words I Just Finished Reading

The Kitchen House
The Atomic Weight of Love
We're All Damaged
The War of Art: Break Through the Blocks & Win Your Inner Creative Battles
Wishful Drinking
News of the World
The Forgotten Garden
Out of My Mind
The Subtle Art of Not Giving a F*ck: A Counterintuitive Approach to Living a Good Life
There Is No Good Card for This: What To Say and Do When Life Is Scary, Awful, and Unfair to People You Love
My Not So Perfect Life
Ella Minnow Pea: A Novel in Letters
Killing Reagan: The Violent Assault That Changed a Presidency
The Lost Wife
Searching for Sunday: Loving, Leaving, and Finding the Church
Anna and the French Kiss
Little Bee

Julie's favorite books »


Let's start at the very beginning.

The average woman speaks 20,000 to 25,000 words a day. 

I am a Talker. 

Just ask my mom and sister and friends who have the dubious distinction of hearing the bulk of my Talking.  It used to be my husband but after almost ten years of marriage I have come to the conclusion that he does not find every thought that flits through my brain to be endlessly fascinating.  But he will definitely attest to my status as a Talker (probably to make me stop talking – the man needs some Peace and Quiet).  And my children may or may not tell you that I’m a talker, since they only hear a small percentage of the words that actually come out of my mouth. 

I’m also a Thinker. 

And being a thinker can sometimes be incompatible with this season of my life, which primarily consists of mothering.  Mothering is a messy business (both preschool-projects-with-coffee-grounds-messy and am-I-ruining-your-psyche-for-life messy).  It can be pure joy and it can also be mind-numbingly boring.  And my children are not interested in God’s work in my heart or the book I just read or my most recent epiphany about my feelings.  So the thoughts spin around in my head with no particular direction as I make another peanut butter and jelly sandwich.  Or I hold my child in my arms while he is still warm from sleep, inhaling his scent and knowing these childhood years are heartbreakingly beautiful precisely because they are gone in a moment.  The heaviness of love is all that will remain. 

And, to be fair, I'm pretty sure my mom TRIED to tell me these things about being a mother.  But I wasn't listening.

Apparently I am not a Listener. 

But I do love to share and write and discuss.  I love to thank God for understanding and growth.  As William Butler Yeats stated, “Happiness is neither virtue nor pleasure nor this thing nor that but simply growth.  We are happy when we are growing.”  And this blog will allow me to do something outside of my comfort zone as I share how I’m growing.  And this won’t be knock-your-socks-off-she’s-a-pillar-of-humanity growth but more of a baby-steps growth.  Want to make sure your expectations are in line, here. 

The other beautiful thing about this blog is that it’s a shared project with my lovely friend, Hope Ignacio.  She and I have walked this path together, weaving in and out of each other’s lives as the years have passed.  We have a shared grace neatly hidden inside our friendship, quietly nestled among the memories and the missteps and the truth that we now share.  And because we are in different seasons of life, her perspective is always precious to me.   

This blog will be a good way to get out some of those 25,000 words that come out per day.  It may allow me to live with a teeny-tiny bit of intention in my world of "please stop doing that to your brother."  To boldly step out into God's story and not be “besieged by distraction and derailed by endless procrastination” (thanks, Richard Dahlstrom). 

And I pray this blog will grow me. 

And give my friends and family a break.  

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