When I was in high school we live on the Mazzarn River near Hot Springs, Arkansas. I was a painfully awkward teen who looked forward to each summer escaping from school to spend my days in the river swimming. Each spring I would wait for the weather to change, the days to lengthen, and the water to warm. The dogwood tree would drop its pink blossoms into the river making perfect circular ripples. The ripples would bump into each other cause small distortions they would flow downstream and vanish.
Sometimes, writing online feels like dropping a small petal into a huge river. I know that this small little blog doesn’t reach a huge audience or make a big difference in anyone’s world. But every once in a while I hear from someone else out there and it makes it all worth while.