Days of pain count as days of grace
Days of joy can do an about-face
If we do not watch ourselves and learn
Our strength is not something that you earn
It's given to us, for fear to flee
In my days of pain I've come to see
That a weak body can hold much strength
If only you'll look above, at length
You'll find a day of grace for you
If you trust His word, holy and true
You'll know the blessing of silent tears
Given in moments of pain and fears
There are worse stories; you can compare

My name is Mary. Though many of you may not know me now, I was once one of the most active, involved, and prolific contributors to ApricotPie, and many of you who have been here for a long while no doubt remember me.
I joined ApricotPie in 2008. Shortly after joining, I began posting a chapters of a serial historical fiction called The Shadowfields. It was written offhandedly, perhaps even flippantly, purely for the fun of writing it, while my focus and concentration were dedicated to my more serious current project at the time.

We all want to be many things. For example, I want to be, firstly, a writer. Also, I want to be a beekeeper, sail-boater, published author, botanist, and possibly mother someday. And the list keeps growing. 

But with all these ideas, interests, and ambitions comes discouragement, because it is very easy to let that mean little voice inside tell you, "You can't do that." And you... you believe that little voice. It is hard to squash it.