I have reached the end of me. Quite literally. Anyone who has known me for any length of time knows that I love to write. It’s always been my preferred method of communication. When you write there is always the opportunity to think about what it is you really want to say. You get rough drafts. You can edit and rework your words. You can get away with using fancy words that just sound funny when you actually say them in normal conversation. I love to write.

So why don’t I write more???

That’s what I keep asking myself. It keeps me up at night sometimes. Write more! Get all these words on paper. Write more! Put your thoughts down so we can work through them. Write more! Write more! Write more! It’s like I don’t even know myself anymore. And not in a good God-is-making-me-new kind of way either. More of a I’m-losing-myself kind of way. (Don’t worry. I haven reached identity-crisis level yet.)

So why don’t you write more???

Honestly? The real heart of the matter (see that phrase would just sound funny if we were chatting over coffee. I would probably have said something like the thing of it is which sounds ok, but doesn’t translate well to paper. Hence, the real heart of the matter. And my use of hence.)

Where was I? Oh right, the heart of the matter is that I simply don’t have time. Or I don’t make the time. I’m really not sure which one it is.

I have no desire to be a blogger. No thanks. There are enough bloggers out there to wrap the earth 12 times. I have nothing new to say. There is a mom somewhere in the US who is blogging it all. Her DIY projects, her tips to being a more efficient mom, her review of products, hotels, and books, her kids’ grade school pictures with the cute printable in a brightly spray-painted frame that tells us all what grade little junior is starting this year. I have no desire to jump into that already overflowing bucket-o-mama-bloggers.

I started blogging before it was cool to blog. I blogged when a blog was simply an online journal instead of a way to make money. I blogged when you still had to explain what a blog was to people. I blogged to share my life with my family and friends who lived far away. I blogged to get my thoughts on paper–well not paper paper, but you know what I mean. I blogged to remember all the little things my Girl was saying when she was so itty-bitty.

But then life happened. Another child came along. We began homeschooling. Poop took over. We began traveling overseas often. Another child came along. Poop was everywhere. Homeschool became serious. People died. Poop. Poop. Poop. I started helping my husband with work-related things. And if course, there was always dinner to be made, poop, butts to be wiped, boo-boos to be kissed, poop, babies to nurse, poop, a house to clean, poop… Basically there was always something else that needed to be done. (Mainly poop.)

But somewhere along the way (in all that poop) Mama lost Melissa. All of Melissa became all of Mama. There was–is no distinction. No girl left in the woman. No wife to be found in the mama.

I’m here today to hopefully rectify this situation. I have made attempts over the last few years to get back to writing-blogging Vince that’s the easiest way for me to write these days, but they’ve all ended with poop and (As if to punctuate this point, The Baby just crawled over to me with the most retched smelling diaper. Lord have mercy!) other things (read: poop) needing my attention.

Don’t get me wrong. The need to write and put my thoughts down has never left. In fact, the desire has only grown stronger with being put on the back burner. It’s just these days are so fleeting. The littles are only little for a short time. This seemingly strangling season of mommy-hood where I’m needed for every minute detail of three little people’s lives won’t last forever. That’s never lost on me. I consider it my willing sacrifice to put my needs to the side. And most days it’s a joy to lay aside my desires knowing that this small sacrifice will reap a harvest of blessings for generations to come. It can reach the ends of the earth. How dare I not make the sacrifice?

At the same time, how dare I lose myself completely for the sake of raising world-changers? I am more guilty of this than I would like to admit. I ignore my own needs for the sake of my family. That doesn’t make me the best mom ever. That just makes me tired and cranky and in the ER with chest pains. It’s not worth it.

So, let’s wrap this all up… I have a third grader that needs to learn about possessive irregular plural nouns. that stuff won’t teach itself.

Finding a happy medium where everyone’s needs are met is becoming more and more of a priority for me. I’m not quite sure how to do that exactly. I’m sure there are hundreds, maybe even thousands of blog posts floating around the Internet that speak to the subject of balancing, but I need to learn what will work for me and my family. I don’t want to follow someone else’s formula. I want a fresh plan tailored just for us from Someone who set the foundations of the earth. He knows far better what I need than anyone.

The end.

Have you ever had one of those days where it seems like you just can’t get your head above water?

I’m having that day today. Well actually this whole week has been like… No. More like this whole month has… Not true either. Actually, I can’t really remember when exactly it started which I guess, goes to show you how long I’ve been treading water. A long time.

My journal has been a lifeline. I’ve almost filled it up just these past few months. I’ve poured it all out to God and that is a cleansing act.

It’s a season of my life. A phase. A test. One I hope to pass. But I’ll be thankful if I can just come out alive.

The hits, they just keep a-comin.