I just realized tonight

I’ve been blogging three years now.

That’s a lot of hours invested here. And what is here, really? Just a small corner of the web. I think of all the time and effort I’ve invested in this little blog and I wonder is it worth it? Does it matter much in the grand scheme of life that I keep adding thoughts here?

I believe it does.

I may not have a huge audience of readers, Sitemeter numbers of great significance or the attention of the masses, but I believe what I have to say is important. Be it family history my children can read later to remember, observations of church life, or comments on a book I’ve read, it needs to be said.

And only I can say it.

My life is unique. My story is my own. The Lord has put me here now for a reason. Right here: this redhead Jersey mom with a messy house and the desire to share what I’ve learned, what I know. It may not be much, but it’s me and this is where He put me.

What about you?

You’re unique too. Your story can only be told by you. Make sure you tell it – write it down, even if it’s only in a private journal, not to be shared outside your family. Never think you are insignificant. Never for a moment believe your life amounts to nothing or you can’t make a difference in someone’s life. If you keep a blog, then keep going. Each one of us has a gift to offer a soul seeking.

Your life is a story. Now go tell it.

Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues: a story of a beloved bear

Pink Teddy, as he’s come to be called, is Lucy’s favorite toy, her lovey. Most of the time – like right now as I write this – Teddy lays on the floor among the other toys, the plastic doll house pieces, My Little Ponies and Legos. But when Lucy wants to sit in my lap for a cuddle, the bear is back in her arms.

Pink Teddy is a little faded now, yet the pattern of Xs and Os, symbols for hugs and kisses on his fur, is still clear. His chest is permanently matted because Lucy uses him as a pillow at night. Her older brothers play a game of Steal the Teddy. Typical big brother behavior little Lucy tolerates poorly.

Lucy takes the bear to church and we leave him behind by mistake. She cries all the rest of the way home. That Tuesday, Pastor drops Pink Teddy at our house, driving out of his way to do it. Pink Teddy disappears into the washing machine when mommy says so. Lucy not too keen on that either.

Pink Teddy is my daughter’s lovey for cuddling, but to me he is much more than a toy. He is the physical memory of her suffering, a reminder of the kindness of strangers. A time when I could do nothing to help, but to hold her hand and pray.

Lucy screamed when the EMTs pulled back the temporary bandages to examine the growing burn blisters on her body. Our parade of ambulance, police cars and the curious halted a Little League baseball game. As we waited for the helicopter to land in the outfield to fly us to the doctors she needed, a squad member handed Lucy a pink teddy bear. Lucy immediately found comfort from it.

Lucy and Susan, 9

Today, as I watch Lucy push Pink Teddy on a swing or pretend to share her juice with him, I wonder if the squad volunteer ever thinks of my girl, curious to what happened to us. I keep meaning to send a letter of thanks, to let them know it turned out okay, but I always let busyness keep me from it.

I want to thank her for giving my Lucy a toy we both treasure.

While camping Memorial weekend in 2006, Lucy, 13 months old, suffered extensive burns on her tummy and thighs from spilled coffee. She and I spent three days in The Burn Center at Saint Barnabus in Livingston. Thanks be to God, there are no scars on her body today. You can read the previous post about the ordeal here.

This post is a writing exercise inspired by the book Writing Motherhood by Lisa Garrigues. Tomorrow you can read other posts about mothering at New Jersey Moms Blog.

© 2008 Monica Brand All Rights Reserved

Shoot. I forgot to enter, but here it is anyway

20th Carnival of Christian Writers.

It looks like there are new writers contributing, so go check it out.

As for me, I’ll have to read it later. No timeout from being a mommy, national holiday or not. Sigh. I’m not bitter, really. I wonder what my garbage man and letter carrier are doing right now…