Hello, Blogger. I come in peace.

Having discarded tons of blogs and diaries over the years, I'm not sure I could ever keep up with another one. After three short entries in the diary I started a few weeks ago, it's officially in suspension, and I'm not mentioning my other one-shot diaries that are now scattered around the house. Thinking about it, I wonder how many piles of adorable notebooks I had wasted  just because I grew tired of them.  Call me lazy, but hey, at least I'm determined to change. The truth is, I'm not really what you would call a good writer. I write, yes, maybe a lot, even, but I never actually regarded myself as good enough. I'm just enough. Enough to get by, which is a shame, of course, for a girl in my shoes. I am trying, though. I will try. My words may not be enough to express the emotions I have within, but at least...they're still words, and they come from the innermost part of that muscle that pumps life all over my anatomy even though its existence is being crushed into disappearance by two other larger organs. Take that. Okay, maybe that wasn't exactly what I really wanted to say but I think you get my point.

The role of a writer is not to say what we all can say, but what we are unable to say.  ~Anaïs Nin

This is it. Writing is and will be a channel of the thoughts that keep me awake at night. These are the thoughts that constantly nag me for hours through a bad case of insomnia, both in a good way and a bad way, if ever that makes any sense. The deluge of the Lord's revelations and tasks are just so great and overwhelming that they overflow my puny brain. Of course, I cannot just blabber to my friends literally everything the Lord has ever done in my life. Well, I could, but even if I did, I do not know when my awfully long sharing would end. Thus this blog is born with its purpose: to be a channel of the things that I had left unsaid. Simple. Incredible, in an intellectual way. This reminds me of an answer I wrote down in one of our quizzes in Literary Criticism class, by the way.

...writing cannot fully be understood if it is viewed merely as an external representation of speech. The development of language actually occurs through an interplay between speech and writing, and that because of this interplay, neither speech nor writing may be properly described as being more important to development of language.

I do not know if that ever made sense to you, but I was only highlighting how speech can never really be superior to writing nor could writing be considered better than speech. My point? I never said anything about me making a point. Scroll back up and notice how I said that me writing posts in this blog only reminded me of my answer to a quiz. Memory lapses, anyone?

Anyway, I think I badly need to get back to the reason why this blog came to be. Right. The Lord. His grace. His faithfulness, and how the story of Him using me in His plans could never fit my memory.

The Lord is great, loving, and forever patient. Even though times are rough and I find myself on the rocks a lot of times, He never fails to pick me up (again and again) and remind me of His promises that say, "Child, I am with you and will always be with you."

Yes, I am proud to admit, His love makes me a candle forever aflame. Unquenchable. Eternally ablaze. It may not be the best metaphor I could ever present in this blog, but I mean it. I do. And even if I have to post a hundred entries in this blog just to show that, I would. Yeah, maybe I really would. After all, these are just a few of the things in my head that I have left unsaid.