Half-finished

I want to start writing down ‘our’ story. The ‘once upon a time’ but ‘not a fairy-tale at all’ story of how my little girl got taken hostage by anorexia, the battle scars we all acquired trying to set her free. But writing it down makes me relive moments I want to forget, so I procrastinate and hoover the floor instead. To make things more difficult for me, according to the personality tests we did in the women’s group at church, my personality type finds starting projects exciting but finishing them boring. This is slightly true of me…. Ok, don’t all shout at once, it is very true of me. I have many, many half sewn skirts and blouses in my sewing box, some half painted pillow cases I started in December for the new sofa. When I was pregnant with my eldest I started knitting her a beautiful, pastel jumper. It is in a box in the loft, one sleeve and half of a front panel, still on the knitting needles. She is turning 16 in September. … even finishing this small post is tough- I can see the hoover out of the corner of my eye…

I recently helped a friend move some of her late father’s belongings into storage, a painful process of realising an entire lifetime of living can amount to a few boxes of china cups and paintings. I don’t want my future grandchildren sifting through my life and finding half-finished projects that made no difference to the world, that didn’t change one thing for anybody in pain. Half-finished projects that couldn’t keep a baby warm, despite all my dreams and great intentions. A half written account of how God’s grace brought us through the battle and how the scars we have can help others….

So, when you see me, ask me if I have been hoovering or putting words to paper. Don’t be disappointed if I tell you how clean the floor is though.