The idea of writing a blog has been mulling around in my mind about as long as there have been blogs, perhaps even longer. Some Douglas Firs ago, a seven-year-old hid the thoughts she'd written in the branches, only to have the rain soak them (good thing she wrote in pencil). Dozens of spiral notebooks and thousands of words later, maybe I am finally brave enough to take them down from the tree and share them.
At the same time, this is not my first time to share words. Thanks in part to my grandma, I am an avid letter writer and receiver, and chances are, you've received one from me at some point: lined paper ripped from a spiral notebook, slanted handwriting that's only a few loops short from being cursive. If it were practical I'd handwrite you each an epistle, but Luddite though I am, I'll save some postage and redundancy.
So, dear friends, consider these posts letters posted to you and sometimes to God; I don't mind if you read over my shoulder.
Peace, Jill
At the same time, this is not my first time to share words. Thanks in part to my grandma, I am an avid letter writer and receiver, and chances are, you've received one from me at some point: lined paper ripped from a spiral notebook, slanted handwriting that's only a few loops short from being cursive. If it were practical I'd handwrite you each an epistle, but Luddite though I am, I'll save some postage and redundancy.
So, dear friends, consider these posts letters posted to you and sometimes to God; I don't mind if you read over my shoulder.
Peace, Jill
