Still...

Still... I'm supposed to write as if I know what I'm talking about? I'm still uncomfortable in a group of women because I feel so different. I still don't know how to bring my childless story (childless not by preference but out of absolute fear and disobedience) into a circle that includes so many mothers and mothers-to-be. I still don't know what to do with my husband's grandchildren who are sitting in the next room at this very minute expecting me to know how to act like a grandmother. I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I still know that I'm going to have to make the journey with Jesus. I've tried all kinds of ways of making the journey without Him and none of them worked. Still... while He gave me some basic instructions, He didn't really give me the manual for all of the questions that I have about life right here in my own home. There are others I could follow who would prescribe my every waking moment if I let them, but they don't have the answers really. So I still follow Him. And I can't really get used to this writing for the fun of it without editing. I'm still all about editing myself down to almost non-existence and so I will have to learn about flowing with things the way the other people around me are doing. I don't think I'm going to make it to five minutes because the grandson keeps opening the door and his seven year old brain could care less about why I am typing so it is time for some Smurfs...