the first sentence is always the hardest. there are so many things i could write about — so many things i want to tell you — but i get stuck considering which subject to choose and the endless possibilities for a starter.

and i still don’t know…

i could tell you about how i thought i broke the commercial dishwasher at church yesterday. but it wasn’t actually broken (it would have made such an exciting story if it was) and is still in great working condition. my life is so boring.

or

i could tell you about how this morning as i sat at my desk, i spilled hot chocolate on my lap while one was asking her a question and another was asking me a question and a pastor was wondering about membership files and applications and my phone was beeping from texts and a boy just wanted to know how my day was going and i was quite confused as to who to answer, when to clean myself up, how to appease them all, and then a minute later, like a snap of your fingers, they were all gone. and i wasn’t so confused anymore. i cleaned my jeans and then looked through an excel file to answer questions and then sent a text and it was all good.

or

i could tell you that every morning at 7:30 two of my sisters, my mumsie, and i all gather in our family room and pop in a dvd of some psychotic workout instructor and “copy the tv”, as bronwyn calls it. we look like crazy women — especially since two of the four wear pajamas with sneakers and it looks like i’m going for the “stuck my hand in an electric socket” hairdo (the joys of rolling out of bed to workout at home) and this woman has us doing these exercises that do work (we sweat and our sore after), but they’re strange. really, really strange.

and i could tell you that i’ve slept through our workout time the last two mornings. i know — the world’s biggest slacker. i’m.much.too.tired.

or

i could tell you that someone commented on how happy i still am, a week later after beginning a relationship. it didn’t dawn on me that i shouldn’t still be — isn’t that normal? i’m not naive — i realize the novelty will wear off at some point, but shouldn’t there always be excitement, joy, a sense of wonderfulness? perhaps i’m too much of an idealist. and perhaps i am naive.

or

i could tell you that after comments about my saggy bottom jeans, the pants that are always creeping down, the skirt that just looks sloppy, and the frustration of wearing shirts down to my knees but still not having them be long enough, i’ve decided that something has got to be done. being afeared everytime one bends over is just trying on ones nerves. so i must buckle down and purchase some pants that fit me or go on a diet of donuts, box macaroni & cheese, cookies, cake, ice cream, hot chocolate, and coffee. hmm… i’m thinking the food sounds good.

or

i could tell you that Jesus is good. so good. i could tell you that this martyr complex victim struggles to grasp that He really would give her good things… things that she wanted, but it’s true. He’s not someone who asks that you sacrifice all and only gives what you always dreaded. He asks that we sacrifice all, that our focus be on Him, that we delight in Him, His ways, His will, but then we’re blessed. because He loves us. oh so much. the Cross would have been enough for me to decide to hand myself over to Him, but His love and blessing extend beyond the act of His Son dying for me.

that is amazing.