I’m barely hanging on today. It sucks to admit that. I can always tell when I’ve reached my limit when it comes to stress. The first sign is my vocab. I start to cuss. If you don’t ever feel stressed AND you never swear, please just stop reading this now.

Dependency. I’ve always struggled in that area. It’s the whole idea of not NEEDing help because I can do it myself. As a child, I could tie my shoes, pick out my own clothes (didn’t care if they didn’t match). I could color and cut and paste my own projects. I could even brush my own hair (although I rarely ever did). I didn’t want or need anyone else’s help. Some of it was because of my stubbornness. Mostly, I just wanted to be able to do all the things.

As a little girl, I wanted to become an astronaut. I was fascinated with space, but I learned pretty quickly it would be  unlikely for me to become one. Besides, space camp was too ekspensiv. I decided my new answer to the growing up question would be “an artist.”

Yesterday I went to my own search box on my site and typed in “why I write.” I remember blogging about it awhile back. Up popped Why I Blog. It was dated November 1, 2015. I wanted to remind myself of the why. You can read it HERE.  I gave three reasons, but I’m adding a fourth one today.

Last month, I went to New Life Center on a Sunday morning and listened to a message about faithfulness given by my son-in-law. He asked, “Are you looking for a King or for comfort?” Before the message, we sang a song called King of My Heart. The lyrics talk about God being good. I truly believe that he is good but then when it came to the next line, it gave my faith a good shake.