Mrs. Fisher, I NEVER expected this!

I hold no illusions of myself.
You know,
 illusions,
 such as:
 I'm grand or glorious,
or brilliant,
or funny,
or interesting,
 or that people clamor after my opinion.
Nope, that's not the way I think of myself.
I'm just me,
doing what I can,
 to do my best,
with my circumstances,
right now,
this moment.
When I wrote my first blog post almost six years ago
 (which I never published),
I really didn't know where this blog would take me. 

There are so many fabulous and famous bloggers out there.
Fortunately, they are willing to share tips on building a great blog.
I take those tips to heart,
though often, time doesn't allow me to place a priority on implementing those tips.

People love to read what the famous bloggers write and share.
I enjoy their blogs too.
Immensely!
I love to read what they write,
 their funny "take" on life,
or decorating,
or cooking,
or simply,
 ever so simply,
bringing me a new thought to ponder.

In 2007, my niece and I were discussing blogs.
She's had a blog since "blog time" began.
She knows the ins and outs of blogging.

She said I needed a blog and generously set one up for me.
I thought maybe I could sell some of the stuff I made through one.

A series of twists and turns in life left me using my blog to write.
Nope, not sell the stuff I made.
Just write.
Then my blog was hacked, hijacked!
It was taken from my administration and restructured by an "author" from who knows-what-or-where.
I felt violated.
Discouraged.
Stalked.
My words had been cast to the wind.
After several weeks, when my blog was once again my own,
it was with great uncertainty that I forged on.
I wanted to quit.
Give up.
Throw in the towel.
Yell, "loser"!
Hang my head in shame.
Something compelled me to proceed.
Cautiously, I started once again to brave the depths of vulnerability.

I love to write.
I remember receiving a brown diary for Christmas when I was nine years old.
I was so proud of it.
It was a place for words of my own.
When I was a Freshman in High School, Mrs. Fisher, my English teacher, challenged us to write in a journal every day.

Actually, she required it.

She was my English teacher 9-12 grade, and the journal was required every year.
Yes, I have all four years of High School, written in journals.
Priceless!
I guarded my journal carefully.
It was filled with pages of me, shy, uncertain, self-conscious, determined, little me.
If it would have been scattered and torn or ripped and cast to the wind I would have crumbled and melted right into the red clay soil of Northwest Arkansas.
Well, that's what I thought then.
Life has taught me I would have survived!

With her vivacious and energetic personality, Mrs. Fisher instilled in me a love for transposing thoughts or activities to written words.
I should find her and thank her.
Yes, I should thank her for all she nurtured in my learning and her part in becoming who I am today.
Through her class journal assignment,
she made me write when I didn't want too.
She required me to write when the thoughts were too difficult for transcription.
She insisted that I record my thoughts and activities when I was too busy.
And she allowed me to feel the joy of thoughts flowing freely into words.
In my memory, I can still see her beautiful brown curly hair and her petite frame moving from desk to desk to desk as she quickly circled the classroom and put a red check mark at the top of each student's completed journal page, and recording credit in her grade book.
She did this every school day.
I think often of the effort required on her part because this was an assignment for all of her students.
She said, "I will never read what you write.  Those are your thoughts, your words.  However, you must write one page.  I will check to see that you did the assignment each day.  You will receive credit for doing it."

I LOVED this assignment.
It was like my Christmas gift diary.
Only it was all grown up now!

Her system of checking our work,
 balanced against the assurance we could write whatever we chose, gave me freedom for expression.

So in 2007, when I first wrote the blog post, that remains unpublished,
I hung on the edge of fear, knowing that if I hit publish, suddenly with one key stroke,
 my thoughts  which I had translated to words,
 would no longer be my own.
Even now, when I click to publish a new post,
the fear surfaces because
the thoughts that have become words,
 are with the click of the cursor, 
 no longer mine,
they become ours.
They are now words that can be loved or criticized or despised or treasured.
They are simply scattered beyond my reach,
no longer guarded and held tightly in my arms, secured between  the front and back flimsy cardboard flaps and spiral wire binding
 of my journal.

Across these blog years,
I never expected to have people, some strangers, reach my direction, through private messages,
and other means of communication
 and tell me things with which they were dealing.
I never expected for someone to tell me that what I said through written words had given them a new focus...
...a new perspective.

I carry these people, and their concerns close to my heart.
I have been blessed by their stories.
It strengthens my resolve to live wisely and graciously.
When someone out there tells me they been touched by words read here...

...then...
I am humbled,
truly humbled.
I never expected it!
I'm writing for us,
 you and me,
AND
for Mrs. Fisher,
 and those looking for a glimmer of joy and a fresh breath of hope.
Thank you from the depths of my being for letting me know the words have come full circle.


I think I will see if I can find Mrs. Fisher.
AND
thank HER!
This is proof positive that a teacher's influence never stops.

If and when I do find her,
hopefully she will go easy on my sentence structure and grammatical errors
 and other things of importance to the English language!
Maybe she'll even put a little red check mark at the top of the page and record credit for it!

And also~
to those who've suggested it,
yes, I have started the book.