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I blogged a lot when my kids were little. I'm sure it was partly born out of boredom and partly out of excitement for the novelty of this new technology. This medium was something that I was captivated by. I started telling our stories, sometimes with too much detail. Perhaps you'd even call it verbal diarrhoea at times.

I've loved stories and storytelling from my earliest of days. My favourite childhood memories have words in them always: stories of my parents' interracial marriage and journey together to create a new life in Australia; stories read aloud to me on my bed in the room I shared with my sisters (twins who were younger than me by 20 months); stories in the lyrics of the songs I loved listening to and repeating as I sat out on our backyard swings.

My journals throughout my teens and twenties reveal a heart that was desiring to memorialise experience, and remember in a tangible way, the feelings and people I encountered and the places I visited. I have journals describing in detail everything from my Duke of Edinburgh hikes, to my many trips to Fiji to visit our family and journals beginning to describe my spiritual journey to find Truth and God.

So when I began blogging, I treated my posts the same way as I did private journal entries...until I couldn't anymore. I was blogging about our family and I realised that I was releasing it all out into the abyss of the wild wilderness of the web. So I threw the baby out with the bathwater. In doing so, I ceased writing.

Now, I'm learning once again the practice of sharing and the art of restraint.

I want my words to be left behind when my days on the earth are done. I hope that in sharing my thoughts, heart and experience here that someone somewhere may be encouraged, may feel cheered on or at least less alone. Friend, I'm glad you are here. Lusi x

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