So I failed...again. For the- I don't know how many times-I submitted an essay to a writing contest and failed. I used to not want to breath a word of it to anyone when I submitted something. I would just do it quietly, send it off with a prayer and then dream up fun ways, to tell Scott that my essay would be published.
I have yet to be able to live out those made up dreams.
Ouch, it hurts.
I have started to notice a pattern though. Most of the time, the writing that gets published in this contest or that one, is about life changing events. You know, losing a child, or surviving an illness or raising a precious baby to adulthood who has severe limitations, dealing with infertility, or escaping an abusive spouse. I love these stories, I read them too. They are inspiring and full of wisdom. But it has made me wonder if my story, is less of a story because it happens to be (thankfully) more ordinary.
I am so grateful for ordinary. But I guess, it is still ordinary.
The funny thing is...most of us are ordinary. Most of us will never tell our story to Oprah. But even though most of us are ordinary....I for one will never stop believing that ordinary, is beautiful too.
Just like the ordinary way that Kaden reached for me after I had already given him a hug goodnight just cause he needed seconds. And the ordinary way that Branson held my hand all the home from church last week. The ordinary way that Ella blabbers on and on about her dance class, Cali's ordinary hair that hangs all day long in her face and gives her a genuine hippy look. Not to mention Brylee's ordinary afternoon of writing witty little stories about best friends and puppies and rainbows. And me, I am using up my ordinary life doing laundry, playing pet shops with a 4 year old and studying with a preteen.
Everyday life is not glamorous and it certainly doesn't attract the attention of the masses but it's beautiful when you let it be, and besides...at the end of the day, what we do with our ordinary time may just be- what really mattered after all.