I suppose I should still write.  Even though the fire is gone, the thoughts are small, the will asleep.  I could write about the full days I have been working.  The large weights I am moving.  The new book read: haunting and choppy and not quite full.

I could tell you how I miss my sister.

Or about the new app I downloaded last month: fertility friend (yeah, I shared that).  It lives right next to myfitnesspal.  I haven't decided which is more bossy and ridiculous.  I have decided I'm ridiculous.

I could share the hasty lines written quickly in my notepad this month:
It is possible for planes to fall out of the sky.  
It is possible to feel so large that you're startled by the tag on your jeans: sz 4.

Be careful of who you allow to tell your story.  
Be careful of the way they tell it.

I could tell you about 2 Kings and how Ahab's family was finally wiped out today, destroyed.  I could tell you that reading their deaths made me feel a little less unsettled about the news from Egypt this weekend.  God takes care of His own.

Or how miserably I've failed at being gentle this week.  But I'm trying, I really am.

I'd rather stay quiet, though.  Because it has been a long day and because there are things in my life like fertility trackers and full school days and nasty tones and Egypt.  And I'm not sure what happens when you mix Egypt and myfitnesspal.  I'm not sure how to handle days full of limping, slowing children and nights of rapid fire impatience.

I do know this: He somehow understands all of me, even the parts I can't quite fit together.  And He looks on me with so much grace, so much.  And so I suppose I should still write.