Amy Writes

"What if you blogged about your weight loss, Ame?" he said, like always, doing his best to support his fluctuating and frustrated wife. "I mean, blogging seems to help you organize your thoughts and you're good at it, and..." I saw where he was going. I didn't like it. Bravely ignoring my scowl, he continued. "It might provide that extra accountability you say you need. You know, apart from me." Agh! He said it. Kill switch: Engage. "Nope. I don't need accountability . If I'm going to do this, it has to come from me," I snapped. "Well, but, you like to wri-" "I know I like to write. But who wants to read about what I did and didn't eat today or whether or not I exercised? I'll lose my entire readership!" Snapping again. But I knew that one wouldn't fly. I don't have a readership. That was sometime last year. The idea of blogging my way through weight loss sounded a little like letting the public...

To you. This week, those two words are ringing in my head as the most important words in all of Scripture. I get birth announcements all the time. My friends just can't seem to stop reproducing. So at any given time, there is at least one photo of someone else's new bundle-o-joy on my fridge. The verbiage hardly ever varies: Fred and Wilma proudly announce the arrival of our daughter, Pebbles... And there is, invariably, a photo. Usually of a wrinkly, sleeping baby. Sometimes with close-ups of tiny toes or feet, because everybody loves baby feet. Sometimes big brother or sister make it onto the card. I love those. I love birth announcements, but they don't change my life. I love babies, and I particularly love the babies of friends who know me well enough to send me an announcement. But aside from a general warming of the heart at the photo and the scheduling of a post-hospital meal, birth announcements are not meant to alter the lives of their recipients. They are every p...