I bought a journal while visiting my middle son and I finally decided to start using it. This is a cathartic experience.

This girl’s name is Free. She has a powerful testimony.

I could clean the kitchen.

My fondness of words and letters began as a pre-schooler. I taught myself to read when I traced the letters in my Dr. Seuss Dictionary.

A pen is security and voice for me. Similar in feeling to a bowl of slightly warmed French vanilla ice cream with butterscotch topping preferably with a hint of sea salt, such is the delicious comfort I experience.

Though I am a word person, I’m not a drawing person. I can’t draw. People have called me a writer but NEVER a person who can draw. You would never have me on your team in Pictionary. Seriously.

But then something really unusual started happening a few weeks ago.

I started drawing.

And not just stick figures but actual recognizable images.

Who are these characters that appear on paper?

What is going on with my hands and fingers?

Why am I being drawn, excuse the pun, to spend hours surrounded by ink, colored pencils and pens?

Hey!

These images emanate deep from my soul. And from the Bible. My personal story, in part, is being played out. I don’t know where it’s going bu it has become a way to worship the Lord. I think maybe one day a grand-daughter would like these pictures.

As long as I keep my focus on who my ultimate audience is, I can draw.

If I start concerning myself on what others think, I freeze.

My audience is Jesus who is eternal and grandbabies who one day will exist, Lord willing.