Several weeks into my first semester in college I decided that I was going to look nice for a change. So that night I laid out my best clothes, set an early alarm, packed my book bag, and fell asleep telling myself that tomorrow I would be like all these other college girls—well-dressed and showered. I even pulled out my eyeliner.
You see, I was born and raised in Central Arkansas, and I spent my happiest childhood memories running, quite literally, wild on our home school homestead, the forty acres. If I wasn’t jumping in knee-high mud holes after a heavy rain, I was wandering the forests around our land and building fires by my playhouse. While my childhood was filled with invaluable memories and lessons, I somehow never learned the art of appearance. I learned how to catch a crawdad, shoot a basketball, and run barefoot on gravel; but never did I learn to spot a stylish blouse or curl my hair. So I decided college would be my time to learn.
The following day, I woke up, showered, and blow-dried my hair. I wore my best blouse and skirt. Both ironed, I might add. Slowly applied my make-up, carefully wiping away any smudges. And after a thorough inspection in the mirror, I strode out to the elevator, quite proud of myself.
Standing before the elevator, a crowd of perhaps 20 girls had gathered, and we all crammed into it when the doors opened. Being on the 7th floor, I had plenty of time to look each girl over as we rode to the lobby, and I was pleased to think my appearance was solidly average. After all, my best blouse wasn’t exactly stylish. Average would do just fine for me.
It wasn’t until I stepped outside the dorm onto the cold, rough sidewalk that I noticed my feet, my completely bare feet. I could only hope that no one else noticed as I slipped back inside and took the back staircase to my room.
There I sat in my first class of the day, realizing that all the eyeliner and skirts in the world wouldn’t fool anyone if I couldn’t even remember my shoes.
I guess the point of that story and this blog post is to show you who I really am and what the purpose of this blog is. I am simple and so is my writing. Even as I have changed and moved to new places since that first semester in college, I still prefer to go barefoot. Which makes me wonder, do I, a barefoot Arkansan, have anything really worth writing? But, you see, if my words bring a smile to your eyes or encourage your tired heart or remind you of the simple but powerful truths of God’s Word, then the answer is yes. And it’s those three: joy, encouragement, and biblical truth that are the purpose of this blog.
Through this blog and my Facebook page, I hope to keep you updated on my publishing experiences as I have just been offered a contract for my first children’s book, Ozzi the Little Dog from Lighthouse Christian Publishers. And in the midst of those updates, there will be many posts with varying themes.
My writing instructor, Sarah Eshleman, once told our class that she could be standing next to Niagara Falls and be fascinated with a bug at her feet. I, on the other hand, could be standing at Niagara Falls and be fascinated with the falls themselves, how that man is talking to his daughter, the color of the moss, the clouds, the bugs, a young girls hat, the wheels on a stroller, and the sounds of birds in the bush. It seems that wherever I am, I am trying frantically to watch every curious event, understand every aspect and emotion I see. Focusing is really quite difficult for me. As this blog grows, you may start to see that.