Hello. It's Me. ;)

Do you have a friend you know well, and you love, but you haven't talked to in a long time?  You know the friend.  The one you would love to reconnect with, but you would need at least 2 hours of heart-to-heart talking, just to start scratching the surface of the lost time. (3 of mine are pictured above)  So when you're in between Point A and Point B and you have 5 minutes before arriving at Point B and your phone rings, and it's THAT FRIEND, your insides die a little because you know answering the phone won't work right now.  5 minutes isn't enough because you haven't talked in for-ever.  So you let it go to voicemail because you can't possibly pick up the phone with the friend you need 2 hours with and be like, "Hey! Oh man, I'm good, how are you? Cool, I gotta run now." Because that would be weird and awkward and just not right.  So you miss that call and wait for a time when you have some space to talk...and  more and more time just goes by... And it's not because you don't love each other and want to talk.  It's just that to re-connect properly, you would need time and space, and Lord knows that's a hot commodity these days.

OK.  So that's me.  With you.  Yes, you. The one reading this right now.

The holidays hit the Ramsays (and the rest of the world, or course!) in full force.  Lot's of speaking engagements, lots of neat opportunities, lots of decking halls and fa-la-la-ing.  So. Fun.  Not to mention Jon started his adventure with his new, post brain tumor part time job working with a non-profit + part time seminary student at Talbot.  (which = full time awesome, amazing, crazy, FULL, exciting, pushed to the limit, life.)  (see blog: "We're Out of the Waiting Room" from Sept. 15 for those details. I would link to it, but I DON'T KNOW WHAT THOSE STEPS WOULD BE. Don't judge me. I'm a hack blogger.  A Hackgger. Whetevs.)

Then came January.  Exhale.  And then there was me going, "Man, I miss my blog.  I miss the people I get to do life with via the blog."  But, The Time.  The 2 months that had passed.  I couldn't just hop on and say "Oh hey!  I'm good, how are you? Cool."  I would need to sit and catch up.  The whole "2 hours of heart-to-heart" thing.  But who has space for that?

And then came the "other blogs." The ones I would see passed around social media.  The ones that promised 10 days to a perfect marriage, 7 steps to the perfect kids and 5 steps of faith to receiving God's healing.  All while I walked through divorces with dear friends who DID ALL THE STEPS, and counseled parents  WHO USED THE BLASTED FORMULA, and I spent time with my sick mother who WE HAVE HAD ALL THE FAITH FOR.  So many promises. So many formulas.  The idea of blogging got less and less appealing.  I'm not like them.  I don't have all the answers.  I can promise nothing outside of whatever Jesus Himself has promised.  I have a husband who we pray healing over daily, who has yet to be fully healed.  I have kids who love Jesus but don't pick up their Bible on their own.  I have a load of laundry in the washer that's going on it's 3rd time through because WHY CAN'T ANYONE REMIND ME TO PUT IT IN THE DRYER THE SAME DAY?  The struggle is so freaking real.

Then there were the articles on social media that actually said something really, really well.  Like, life-changingly well.  Like, life and hope and truth.  And my dirty laundry (literally) just seemed like it had no place next to real, legit fancy people.

So time went by.  And things would happen and I'd think, "Oh man, I'd love to share that on the blog. Oh wait, that would be weird.  I can't be like, "Pray for Jon - he had social anxiety for the first time ever and I think it's related to his hearing loss but we don't know for sure" because you'd be like, "Woah, slow down the train.  Who are you again?"  But whatever.  Here I am.  This is our 2 hour talk.  Our re-introduction.  Because God hasn't released me from this Living Out Loud thing.  So I'm here.

Well, I was here. But the spin cycle is done and for the love of all things good and holy, I CANNOT wash that load one more time.