It sounds dramatic.

But it’s true.

I had to fly away to find myself.

Nearly nine months ago, I found myself alone in a hotel room in Miami, Florida. I’d spent several hours on a flight from Minneapolis, so when I arrived at the hotel, all I wanted to do was get out for a walk in the “warm” February weather and grab some dinner at a nearby Chick-Fil-A. I took my chicken strips with honey roasted barbecue sauce, waffle fries and Diet Coke back to my room and ate quietly on the bed, then turned on the television, slipped into my pajamas, and watched Blackfish. You know, the unforgettable documentary about orcas at SeaWorld? Yep. I was intrigued. I got completely lost in the story. And I stayed up extra late to finish watching it even though I really needed to get to bed. Because I was flying to Haiti the next day to visit our two sponsored children through Compassion International.

When Blackfish was over, when the unexpected flurry of beeps in response to my #Blackfish tweets finally slowed, when I’d decided to call it a night and turn out those lights, that’s when the heart pain kicked in.

I’d been having ever-so-slight heart pains for weeks leading up to my trip to Haiti. So it was no surprise that I had them again that night when I was alone in the dark, Miami hotel. I’ll tell you the truth. I started to freak out just a little. I wondered if I was going to have a heart attack while I was in Haiti. I wondered if I’d been ignoring all the signs of an impending attack. What if I was about to find myself stranded in a Haitian hospital and have to forgo my trip because of these stupid heart pains?!

I started to feel alone and a bit scared for my life. In all the months of planning and preparing for this moment, for this trip to Haiti, this was the first time reality had really set in.

I’m in Miami, Florida. In a dark hotel room by myself. I’m going to Haiti tomorrow. With a bunch of people I’ve never met. What in the world am I doing?!

Through all these thoughts, my heart continued to ache little aches. I ignored them, though. Because those little aches weren’t about to stop me from going to the airport and getting on that plane to Haiti.

Oh, I’m so glad I didn’t let those little aches stop me.

The trip to Haiti was marvelous, wonderful, better beyond anything I ever expected. The children, parents and staff we met at the Compassion centers filled my heart to the brim. I felt completely at home making those home visits. And having an entire day with our two sponsored children was the most amazing, blessed gift I could have ever received.

I felt fully myself.

I was fully myself.

Back home, life had been well. I had pretty much everything I needed and most everything I wanted. And everyone who loved and cared for me was there.

Something was missing, though. That is, until Haiti.

Until Haiti, I’m not sure I knew what it felt like to be fully me, fully authentic Amy.

Let me explain.

Haiti helped me realize there’s a difference between who I’ve been and who God created me to be. When I was there, I experienced what it was like to live in the center of His will. I was fully, fully alive. I was fully, fully me. If I could ever pinpoint a moment in time where I felt 100% comfortable in my own skin, it was then.

How did I know?

Because I experienced the fullest range of emotions I’ve ever experienced. My guards were down, all the way down. I cried, a lot. Not because I was sad, but because I was so full of joy. I felt a little stupid, because, well, I seemed to cry like a baby every time it was my time to share at the end of the day. I said stupid stuff, like “this trip means a lot to me.” And after sweet baby boy said he wanted me to be his mama, I pressed my hands up against the windows on the van and sobbed my eyes out and put my hands on my heart and didn’t even care that someone was sitting between the window and me watching it all go down. Yet, I was filled with joy. Some of the purest, truest joy I’ve ever felt. And I knew, there’s beauty, great beauty in the place where joy and sadness meet. That’s God space, God’s place. He was there. In me, through me, behind me, ahead of me. Everywhere. Everywhere.

So yeah. That’s how I knew I was most fully myself.

Then it was time to leave.

I wasn’t sad to be going home. Because my husband was right, home is where everyone knows and loves me, home is the beautiful everyday God has created for me.

But I was really sad to leave Haiti. Because there, I’d learned to be me, without borders. I didn’t want to fly away from the beautiful everything God created me to be.

I thought the story was done. Back home, life returned to normal. Or not so normal. Nothing was the same.

I took a blogging break for 3 weeks.

I dreamed.

I made some decisions.

I decided I really wanted to go to a writing conference in the fall.

My husband said yes.

So eight months after I got back from that trip to Haiti, I found myself on a plane to a writing conference.

I’d been connecting with this group of writers for four years. I’d wanted to attend the conference for two years. But when push came to shove? I had no idea what I was doing when I got on that plane. I had no. idea. what. I was doing.

But let me tell you. In some odd, totally unexpected turn of events, God showed me, once again, who He created me to be. I came fully alive, again. I felt fully alive, again. I knew what it felt like to be me. Really, me.

I found my people. I felt free. I took risks. Little risks and great big risks. I roomed with someone I didn’t know at all. But in the end, it felt like we’d known each other forever. I got to meet nearly everyone I wanted to and then some. I was me, just me. I wasn’t less than or more than myself, I just was myself. When I sat myself at random tables, I knew there’d be a place for me, because everywhere I went, I felt comfortable as me.

I ugly cried with Jill who pursued and loved me like mad. I got vulnerable and prayed with Christy and Jaimie. I humbly welcomed the love from sweet Darlene when she introduced me to friends and called me “angel.” I felt all the exhaustion when I plopped, hunched and got real on the couch with Jessica, Heidi, Alia & Shelly. I felt God’s divine power pour down when Anna and I had the opportunity to speak at length with Mama Bear Liz. And I hoped and prayed I was meeting friends-to-be when I hugged and chatted with Crystal, and complimented Annie on her way of making me laugh and cry in one hour. I felt like an idiot when I’d completely lost it in that dark, dark room when Judah & The Lion played music that matched the core of my heart. And when I realized someone witnessed me losing all composure? I didn’t even care.

I went all day, and I didn’t want to stop.

I couldn’t get to sleep at night because my mind was racing, my heart was full.

And when I called my husband to tell him how awesome the trip was, I felt the same way I did when I called him from Haiti. I felt full. I felt like me. I wished he was there. To see the real me, the best of me in action. He said he was proud of me, that I deserved this. I don’t feel like I deserve anything, but I was happy he got to hear the real me, the best me.

Before I knew it, I was on my way back home with Traci. God knew I needed her bubbly extroversion to balance what would’ve otherwise been my sadness.

And when I got home, what waited on top of the mail pile?

A blue box. With a Compassion International sticker on top. Inside? The details of our trip to the Dominican Republic two months from now.

I had to fly away to find myself.

And God’s willed. Pure grace.

I’ll be flying. Again.

Perhaps those heart pains weren’t pains at all, but a heart ready to burst open wide.

 

 

 

*Photo at top of post taken by Allume photographer, Kim DeLoach.

I’m not sure when it was. Maybe a year ago, maybe two.

She said those words. And I knew they were true.

“You’ve been sprinting through life. You’ve burned yourself out.”

Yep.

It’s true.

I can’t deny.

Life’s a marathon. And I’ve been sprinting.

First it was tennis, tennis and more tennis. I played morning, noon and night, it seemed. I’m pretty sure I burned out long before I was aware. I knew in my heart that winning wasn’t my goal, so I snapped at the coach at an inopportune time, then kept on playing as big as I could. I played once or twice in college. That’s it. My heart was never in it from there on out. I haven’t picked up a tennis racquet for 16, 18 years.

Then it was flute. Now that I’m a mom of a not-always-excited-to-practice band student, I’m convinced I practiced like a good girl should. I never second guessed the proper amount of time I should put in to perfecting my art. I just did it. It worked for me. I must have loved it, or I wouldn’t have done it. I did band. I did lessons. I did private lessons. I did recitals. I did solos and ensembles. I won awards. I was honored for my achievement and my art. I even did wind ensemble through most of college, even when I didn’t have to, even when I was one of the only non-music majors. And when my best friend asked me to play flute at her son’s baptism, I did. I hadn’t played for three years, and it felt good. I was better than I remembered. Yet, after that day, I didn’t pick up a flute for another 12, 13 years.

Things changed a little when I became a full-fledged adult, a full-fledged wife and mom of one, two, and then three. The race venue changed. But I hadn’t.

I went to graduate school. Let’s just say I burned out before I even finished. My mom can attest to that fact. But I pressed on anyway and got that master’s degree.

We did young married couples’ bible study. With good friends, GREAT friends, for five years straight. Nearly every single week we met, traveled across the metro to another young married couple’s house. We bundled our son, and when our daughter came along, we bundled her too. I loved it and we did it for five years, but after a while, this beautiful bible study thing started to feel a little like a burden, a commitment that wasn’t working as well as it once did. The constant bundling up and heading out with two little ones on cold work and school nights was feeling like too much for this family to bear once a week forever. Yet I knew “good Christians” attended weekly bible study, wouldn’t complain or feel burdened, and would never consider a break. Then we moved. The increased travel to and from was too much more than it already was. We knew it was time to say good-bye to that not-so-young-anymore married couples’ bible study. So we called it a day.

I told her I wanted to run for city council. Perhaps I thought I was superwoman. Perhaps I was wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t superwoman at all. Yet, I offered myself for an open seat on the planning commission anyway. The fit for my gifting and personality? It worked. Fine. I did my job and I did my best. I read every note. I studied and understood as best as I could. I sat in that seat for three years, one whole term. But I knew, this city government stuff wasn’t for me. Plus, I had elsewhere to focus. I’d started sprinting in a new direction.

Wife. Mom of two, then three. Private practice owner. Speech-language therapist. And planning commission.

It wasn’t enough.

I added non-profit board member to this sprint through life.

But at this point, I must’ve known in my heart of hearts. I needed to be CALLED to something rather than just DO it for the sake of doing it. Because all my sprinting was beginning to take a toll, and I hadn’t even begun to identify the problem yet.

So I thought and prayed over the opportunity to join the non-profit board for NINE months before I finally agreed to do it. A series of events led me to believe, very clearly, that I was being called to join the board. So I did. For three years I served diligently as board member. I gave 110%. And my God-given gifts were utilized. To this day, I believe God had called. I obeyed. And it was a beautiful thing. But when my three-year term neared the end, I knew it was time to go. I was growing weary. I knew it was time for fresh faces to step in. And since I started my term on the board, I’d also begun this blog. It was time to focus my efforts here, where I was feeling a strong call to be.

This isn’t the end of my sprinting story. There are parts I’ve left out. Intentionally. Because I’m not ready to tell the whole story yet. And I’m sure you get the point, anyway.

What I’ve written is vulnerable enough for today.

I’ll leave the rest of this story for another day.

This is the only thing I really wanted to say.

I’m no longer willing to sprint through this marathon called life.

It’s time I admit this, now.

It’s time I confess this, now.

Because sometimes life feels short, but more often? It feels like a marathon.

I’ve done things by “the book.” I’ve sprinted with all I have towards the finish line. But if God has me running a full life? I’m not quite half through “the race.”

I’d better start pacing myself.

I’d better start focusing on the things God’s called me to do instead of the things that would be good to do.

I’d better start living instead of sprinting.

So today, I slow myself. Intentionally.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, and gracefully in this writing space. I commit to keeping my heart engaged. I commit to feeling connected. Always. I commit to listening to God’s call for every step. And I commit to staying and doing the hard work even when the journey feels bumpy, unsteady, fully unknown. I commit to giving myself grace and freedom to be and write like me, even when the voices tell me I should change, quit, be realistic, more practical, whatever. Burnout isn’t an option in this place. It just isn’t.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, and gracefully in my living spaces. Yes will no longer be my default. No will be an option. And maybe will be just that. Maybe. We’ll see. I need to stop for a break, clean up the rubble, gather unnecessary things I’ve lugged on the sprint, and toss them out once and for all. For more is not better. And faster’s not always effective. So let me stop, please. Then I’ll pick up the pace, this time slower, with more intention.

I commit to living slowly, thoughtfully, gracefully for the loving faces. Because I’ve loved, but not enough. I’ve been vulnerable with a few, but guarded with most. I’ve lost all trust when all I really want to do is gain, and more. I’ve wanted to connect, but I haven’t known how. I haven’t had time to sit, haven’t had time to be, haven’t had time to linger, with you. A part of my heart has grown cold along the sprint. Cold, believing everyone’s sprinting, that nobody has time, that everybody has their own agenda and nobody’s interested in real relationship anymore. What if most of us are sprinting? What if we’re all burning out? What if we just need to slow down and linger longer, and that’s all we really need for our hearts to burn brighter and lighter again? So I commit. Whether I’m bad at it or not, to slowing and lingering. For the sake of connection. With you.

Life’s a marathon.

I’m slowing.

I might even have to stop before I pick the pace back up to a jog.

But you better believe this.

I will sprint no more.

Today is the last day of 31 Days. I’ve already published 31 posts in the series, 31 Dreams From The Street.

I introduced the series.

I interviewed 25 people and shared what they would do with their lives if they didn’t have to worry about money.

I spent a day resting and reflecting.

I spent three days sharing random observations from the street. That is, The Day I Wanted to Quit 31 Days, Rejections from the Street, and Notes from the Street.

And yesterday, I shared my dreams.

It’s safe to say ALL of us are ready to close up shop on this series. Can I get an amen?

But something’s missing.

Before we call it a day, I want to give YOU a chance to share how YOU’D answer the question “If you didn’t have to worry about money, what would you do with your life?” 

Because I honor you. I respect you. I appreciate you, my reader. And I know every one of you has a dream, something you’d love to do with your life if you didn’t have to worry about money at all.

So if you feel led, take this opportunity to share. Take this opportunity to dream big. Take this opportunity to be bold, to put yourself out there.

Put it in writing.

Make it be known.

Share your answer to the question I’ve asked all month long.

I’m opening up the mic. For you. Because after all this? Someone’s ready to be brave. Someone needs to be brave. You know who you are.

So let’s do this.

I’d love to hear what you’d do with your life if you didn’t have to worry about money at all.

GO. And be brave.

I’ll meet you, whoever you are, in the comments.

 

 

 

*This is the final post from a month-long 31 Days series titled Dreams from the Street. If you’d like to read the rest of the series, click here and you’ll be brought to the series landing page where all 31 posts are listed and linked. You can follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/AmyBPederson, and I’d LOVE to connect on Facebook at facebook.com/AmyBPederson! I’m so glad you stopped by. Make yourself comfortable and take a peek around the place. You’re welcome back anytime.

I didn’t plan to write this post. But as I interviewed people for this month’s series, I realized it wasn’t fair to ask so many people to be brave without being brave myself. So mid-way through the month, I decided I would wrap the series with a post titled “My Dreams” and another titled “Your Dreams.”

Today, I’m sharing my dreams. I’m answering the question…

“If you didn’t have to worry about money at all, what would you do with your life?”

Before I get started, let me acknowledge that this is little unfair. I’ve had all month to process the question, hear 25 answers, and get my brave on. And I’m sure I’ll take a lot more time to answer than most of the people I interviewed. One more note…I’m going to answer this month’s question from both angles. That is, as if I had an unlimited abundance of money AND if money held no currency and I could spend my life as I wished.

So here we go!

(Expect this to be fairly unfiltered and unedited.)

Practical and Not-So-Practical Spending

I’d definitely take care of some practical and not-so-practical matters. I’d pay off our house, cars and anything else that hindered. I’d save 100% of projected college costs for our three children as well as all of our nieces and nephews. I suppose I’d put some money aside for three weddings, too!

I’d payoff my parents’ house, and would take my family of origin on a Walt Disney World vacation. And I’d take my husband’s family of origin to a dude ranch for that vacation my father-in-law’s dreamed of.

I’d move south and buy plane tickets to come visit family and friends whenever we wanted. And I’d make life easier for myself by hiring a personal chef or having meals pre-made for our family. Oh yeah, I can’t forget – I’d hire someone who LOVES cleaning to clean my house. Because I hate it. 🙂

That’s all good and fun. Everyone has things they’d buy and save for if they had an unlimited source of money. But those things don’t ultimately light the fire inside us. After we paid off the bills and saved for our future, we’d still have to spend our lives somehow.

So let’s move on to the good stuff, the stuff of the heart, the stuff we’d DO with our lives if we didn’t have to worry about money.

MISSIONS

If I didn’t have to worry about money at all, I’d let my husband continue doing whatever type of work and/or leisure fulfilled him, and I’d pursue missions however it fit best with our family life. In an ideal world (a.k.a. an imaginary world), I could travel back and forth to Haiti and/or Africa whenever I wanted. Perhaps I’d spend a day. Perhaps I’d spend a few days. Perhaps I’d spend a week. Perhaps I’d spend a couple weeks. I’d find a safe place to call home, and I’d just love on the people all day. I’d develop relationships and pour into their lives to the max. If a school needed to be built, WE’D build it. If teachers needed pay, WE’D provide it. If clothes, food or shelter were needed, WE’D make it happen. Above all else, we’d educate, empower, and foster faith in people so they knew any mountain could be moved. Somehow, miraculously, I’d involve my family in all that. And every single one of them would love it. And I’d bring teams back and forth from the USA so everyone would have the opportunity to serve and love without the hindrance of money.

(I never said these dreams had to be completely realistic, right?)

BACK AT HOME

So I’d be doing all that abroad, but back at home, there’d be life. Life abundant, but not too busy.

First off, I’d create a lifestyle that was supportive to the max. It wouldn’t just be me, my husband and our kids in our own little world. We’d have a whole community of love around us. Everyone would be all in. We’d be for each other and do anything for each other at any time. (Hence, the reason I’d be able to travel so much.) Need child care? Need dinner? Need help cleaning the disgusting toilets? Need a break? Need a date night with your husband? Need someone to talk to at any given moment? Someone would be there to help. And we’d be there to help others, too. It’d be community at its best, working for the greater good of everyone.

(Not sure any of this could ever happen? Yep. I hear ya.)

While the kids played and went to school and did all the awesome-kid-growing-up community things they did, I’d write. I’d write and I’d write and I’d write some more. I’d publish a gazillion books, as many as I could. If I thought of a book, I’d write it. And then I’d hire the best editors I could. Why not? would be the theme of my life. Why not. I’d make those books beautiful, lovely, glorious, delightful, and full of all the heart I could muster. They’d make people cry. They’d make people feel known and understood. I’d distribute those books to the people who needed them most. And I’d love those people as much as I loved the people in Haiti and Africa. Those people? They’d be my people. All of them. Every single one. They’d know they were cared for, they’d know they were heard, they’d know they were seen, and they’d know they were loved. I’d educate, empower, and foster faith in those people so they knew any mountain could be moved.

None of it would be fabricated. All of it would be real.

In this make-believe dream, I could actually make my dream a reality…

To be dirty during the day and dressed up at night.

It might be possible.

 

 

 

*This post is a part of a month-long 31 Days series titled Dreams from the Street. If you’d like to read more from my series, click here and you’ll be brought to the series landing page where all 31 posts are listed and linked! You can follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/AmyBPederson where I’ll tweet links to all 31 posts using hashtag #write31days, and I’d LOVE to connect on Facebook at facebook.com/AmyBPederson! I’m so glad you stopped by. Make yourself comfortable and take a peek around the place. You’re welcome back anytime.

Today’s day 29, which means we’re in the home stretch of 31 Dreams From the Street.

(Can I just say a little Hallelujah?!)

I’d like to to step back and share some random thoughts and observations I made as we proceeded through the series.

No need for delay. Let’s get right to it!

Humility

I lived in humility this month. Ego was OUT. THE. DOOR. If you want to practice humility, commit to interviewing random strangers for a whole month. Or commit to doing something, anything totally out of your box. Then go make it happen. It’s an exercise in courage and humility, wrapped into one. Perhaps being brave makes us humble, too.

Trust

One thing I sensed deeply this month is that human beings have trust issues. I addressed this in yesterday’s post, but I’m pretty sure that half of the people I approached for an interview didn’t trust me. I find myself to be a fairly benign, non-threatening person. And I wasn’t asking that much of the people I interviewed. Yet, I was still rejected by 20. I recognize that being approached by a random stranger is totally out of the ordinary. I understand why elements of trust and distrust were inherent to this series. I just wish we lived in a world that was more trusting. Our walls are up. Our guards are up. We don’t always trust human beings. It’s hard to be authentic and develop meaningful relationships with others when we don’t trust. Trust is crucial to connection.

Hope

Couldn’t we all benefit from a little more hope? When we reveal bits, pieces and chunks of our hearts, we become vulnerable, we become wiser, we stir a little or a lot of the hope that’s inside us. When we hope for something better, when we dream bigger, we present ourselves differently to the world.  We’re a living example of what hope looks like, lived out in real time. We can hope for a better tomorrow. We can hope for the things God’s placed on our heart. Hope is worth the risk.

Image

There were a couple days this month that I literally wanted to strip off ALL OF MYSELF. I wanted to strip off ALL OF ME. I wanted to strip off every ounce of my image. Because I sensed something between me and those 20 rejections. Something sat between me and the hundreds of people I passed and didn’t have the courage to approach. One suspect might be image. My instinct told me that if I’d have been able to strip myself of my image, I would’ve had fewer rejections and greater courage to approach more people. But here’s the truth. Stripping our images is nearly impossible. We all come with a “face,” an outward image that people perceive and make judgements about. I wondered if people would have responded differently if I was a man, if I dressed differently, if I presented myself differently, if I was younger, or older?

Dreams

Chasing other peoples’ dreams is exhausting. Chasing other peoples’ dreams for you is exhausting, too. So chase your own dreams. And encourage the dreamers running alongside you. For we all need a little encouragement.

Dark & Light

The street can be dark, lonely, cold, and hurried. Slow down, be a light, and bring joy to a world that needs it bad. Sometimes, we need to get off the fast pace of the street, both literally and figuratively, and step into spaces where we can develop relationship and be known. Life is better when shared. Life is better when we’re connected. Life is better wherever we’re moving towards light.

Work Your Spaces

We’re not meant to be everywhere and be everything to everyone. Be a light in the spheres God’s assigned you to. Stepping outside of the box is good, but if you step too far away from your gifting, you might just find yourself in the wilderness.

Security and Insecurity

The world can make you feel secure as quickly as it can make you feel insecure. Live a life that you love. Hold firm to your beliefs. Know you’re masterfully designed by your creator. Know that you matter. Believe that your life counts. Regardless of what anyone says or how anyone makes you feel. The value of your life has nothing to do with what others think of you. The value of your life is inherent in you. Because you are you. You are called and made, beautiful.

Smile

Smile to someone on the street. Why not? One day when I was out interviewing for this month’s series, I’m pretty sure only one person smiled at me all day. A weight lifted when that person smiled at me. Like someone actually saw me, noticed me, decided it was worth a second to smile at another human being. You never know what kind of day someone’s had. Smile. Please. You’ve got nothing to lose. And you might just feel a little happier yourself, because you made someone’s day a bit brighter.

Broad & Shallow vs. Narrow & Deep

I’m not in this writing gig to push out content. I’m not in this writing gig to go broad, big and shallow. I’m in this writing gig to go narrow and deep. I’m in this writing gig to share my heart. I’m in this writing gig to connect, to love, to hear you out. I’m in this writing gig to share your story, to share my story, to share God’s story weaved through all of us.

Identity

Before we discover who we are, we have to find out who we’re NOT. This month, I learned a lot about who I am. But I learned even more about who I’m NOT. That lesson was invaluable. Now, I’m ready to move on. Now, I’m more prepared than I was, to embrace who I am with wild abandon. This learning who we are and who we aren’t is a tough lesson, but one I wish for everyone. Because we’re not created to be everyone. We’re created to be ourselves.

Time

I mentioned this in Darlene’s post, but we need to take more time with people. We’re missing the boat when we dismiss people, when we merely pass them by, when we barely acknowledge, when we think others better or less than ourselves. What if we took time? To sit. To be. To live in community with others? What if?

Money

I’ve decided once and for all. In the end, money won’t matter at all. In fact, the only power it holds over any of us is that it’s a currency. It’s a way of living. It’s a way of surviving. But living for money is no way to live. So we see money for what it is. A currency to sustain us. But it doesn’t have a hold on us. It doesn’t have us pinned down. It is what it is. Money. Currency.

So don’t be deceived, dear one, be assured. Your best life doesn’t hinge on money. Your best life hinges on faith, relationship, and finding purpose so you can leave a legacy when all’s said and done. So discover and live in your sweet spot. Because when life gets tough, when life’s down and out, all the money in the world won’t help a bit. Faith will sustain us. Relationships will sustain us. And if we discover, embrace, and walk boldly in our purpose, we’ll leave a legacy of hope.

There’s more to life than mere existence.

There’s more to life than money.

Let’s live like “we’re rich.”

For “The simple things in life are the only things that really matter.” Judah & The Lion

 

 

 

*This post is a part of a month-long 31 Days series titled Dreams from the Street. If you’d like to read more from my series, click here and you’ll be brought to the series landing page where all 31 posts are listed and linked! You can follow me on Twitter at twitter.com/AmyBPederson where I’ll tweet links to all 31 posts using hashtag #write31days, and I’d LOVE to connect on Facebook at facebook.com/AmyBPederson! I’m so glad you stopped by. Make yourself comfortable and take a peek around the place. You’re welcome back anytime.