I should talk about nudity more.

Seriously, you people responded the minute I posted something about a naked beach.  Zeesh, what have I been doing all this time telling cute E stories, or talking about my faith, or musing about why I'm as jacked up as I am? I should have just been saying things like "boobies" and you would all come running. (My google stats for the day went off the chart for the nude beach post...)

Boobies.

Hee hee.

Anyway, this actually isn't about nudity, FYI.  (But what a great heading, right?  It got you here...)  This is one of those musing about life deals.  So click on, all you people looking for other things* online, I'm here to talk about myself.  And I'm fully clothed.

When we moved to Winston 8 years ago, my friend Beth said she thought part of what God was going to do with my time here was allow me to write.  I've been "a writer" all my life.  I had a journal from the time I could hold a #2 pencil.  (Bought it from Hallmark.  It had a lock on it.  That never really worked.)  In middle school, I got on this jag where I'd write essays about my friends.  I still have about 15 of them.  If your name is Ben, Andi, Stephanie, Angela, Angela, Mandy, Michael, Dana, or Duffy... I could probably hook you up if you wanted to see what my 7th grade attempt to use big words said about you.  I actually went to Carolina to be in the Journalism School.  Yeah, that didn't happen.

See, along the way in about 1993, a woman named Donna "casually" helped me sort out my calling to the ministry.  At the time I was dating a guy who was going to be a preacher... therefore (because we were going to get married) I was going to be a preacher's wife, right?  During a talk with Donna about what I felt like God was saying to me about being a preacher's wife (which, ps, can you imagine how inappropriate I would be at THAT?) she mentioned that maybe God was calling me to the The Preacher.  Huh.

Being raised in a church that fully supported women in ministry (gasp!) I never questioned whether or not that was an option for me.  I just questioned what I would look like.

So when I got to Carolina, I waved goodbye to the J-school and said hello to the School of Education, then hello to Sociology, then hello to Religious Studies... and finally stopped there.  Going against the advice of a lady named Mary (who also helped me sort out my calling in life), a Religious Studies major seemed just right for me.  (Her helpful hint was to not major in it since I'd likely end up with a graduate level degree from a Div School, so not to bombard myself with All Religion- All The Time.)

I loved my degree and have put it to use... no, really Mom, I have.  (Thanks, again, for paying for college!)  But somewhere in the back of my mind I wonder what I missed at J-school.

A few weeks ago I had lunch with my friend Joy and she, too, asked what I was writing these days.  Follow that up with Beth checking in on me about writing... and now we're back to this Bloggy-blog.  I love it.  Like, love it so much I would marry it.  Not the blog itself, but the writing part.  I mentioned to my gal pals this weekend that if I could have any job in the world (apart from full-time college ministry, cause, let's not lie... who wouldn't want to hang out with them ALL THE TIME and get paid to do it, right?) it would be writing and speaking.  I would love to publish books then travel around to talk about them... and meet all you people along the way.

Maybe one day, that'll be where I land.  For now, I will continue to post here.  And I get giddy with every comment you post.  I once heard a kid say that a text message was like a Christmas Present to his phone... well,  your comments are Christmas Presents to my blog.  I smile when I know you are sharing part of my life with me... even if you skip words and only skim over it.  I gladly open up my heart and my life to you... be gentle with it.

I dig writing... so thanks for reading.

*Those of you brave enough to click my link?  Hysterical, right?  The author of this blog does not in any way condone using the internet for porn, but she may have giggled helplessly when seeing this show with some gal pals. Those under the age of 18 still living with your parents, get their permission before clicking.  Those over 18 living with your parents?  Who am I kidding... you'd already seen it already, I'm sure.   Boobies.  Hee hee.