I was talking with a friend the other day about how it can seem like a person’s life is so perfect and great when you read their blogs but really that is not always how it is. Sometimes I wonder if my blog seems like that. From my perspective as the writer, I know that is not the case because I know all of the behind the scenes. I also know what good and bad events prompt the writing of a blog. It’s actually kind of funny because I have an easier time expressing my difficulties and annoyances in person than I do my joy, happiness or pleasure. Oddly, writing is in the reverse. I tend to only be inspired to write when I have found some bit of light that I want to share. Even in my own journal, I write about hard times in retrospect based on what I have learned from them or how they have changed me. Or I focus on some area of hope that I have been given. It is not that I don’t want to write about the difficulties or that I want to act like I don’t have them. It is just that when I am going through something, I can’t write about it. I don’t feel like it takes away from the sincerity of my writing. This really is who I am if only in part. This is what I love about life. The blessing of knowing people on different levels and being able to learn and grow together in different ways. I am so thankful for the dear friends who live near by. These are the ones that I can express my frustration and confusion as a mama to. I am thankful for the equally dear friends who I can send an email to and know that they celebrate and weep alike with me. Thankful for the family with whom my life is forever entwined. For acquaintances who encourage me and strangers who inspire me. For those who accept me, imperfections and all.