The past several weeks over here in the Peck household, KP and I have quietly embarked on a little undertaking. An undertaking I want to share all about in this blog so, so much. An undertaking that is actually not quite so little at all…

But I can’t write about it all yet, because I don’t yet know what to write about it all. What I can tell you already is this: at least over here in this small part of the world, this maybe-little-maybe-big undertaking carries great significance for us. As though it’s exactly where our life’s paths have always been leading us.

And oh, I hope. I hope like I’ve never hoped before.

KP and I wrote our script. The first full draft.

We finished it this weekend.

We did it together. Layering in pieces, finding our core themes. Adding story elements here and there, making it all work. There was pull and tug. We each brought different visions to the table. We each think and create very differently. But we communicated. Over and over and over again. REALLY communicated. Disagreements over scenes and lines, but coming to resolution, or at least compromise. We whittled down all the things in our heads that we didn’t know how exactly to say, yet we each felt. Beautiful grand ideas about humanity and relationships and compassion and life and death and faith. All nicely formatted into ~120 pages of screenplay.

Other than our kids, this is the single most significant thing KP and I have ever done together. Maybe forever.

No matter what comes from this. I’m proud of it. Yes, this is my first time to write a script; maybe I’m just getting myself too emotionally invested in it. But I feel like there’s something more here.  We’ll see.

You know how when you read a good book you feel like you live in its world and when the book is over it’s hard to snap back to the reality around you? I’ve just spent the last month like this. Almost daily excursions into this other world, absorbing and making sense and order out of details and emotions and people and circumstances.

I’ve cried. So. Many. Times. I stopped even caring when tears would start falling from my eyes, in public, while writing at Starbucks. I’m sure people thought something was wrong with me. Nope, just being creative and allowing myself to feel so that a future audience might also one day feel.

And oh, I’ve felt. All the feels. And more.

Other than our forced improvement in communication skills that have come from creating a story together, this experience has also given me a new understanding for everything KP’s gone through over the years. To continually throw yourself into and immerse yourself in these passion projects, only to see them torn apart in notes that seem to have missed the point completely. The fear of soul-crushing criticism. It’s hard. And it’s heavy.

And I don’t know if I have the heart, or the patience, for this kind of life. But yet, somehow here we are, still going with this. Still deeply passionate about it. About the potential it has. About the good that can be done. About what this could be.

And now we wait.

For whatever is to come.

waiting for my time to come
(Screenshot credit: Colony House’s Waiting For My Time to come video @
(I wrote this entire post while listening to Colony House’s “Waiting For My Time to Come” on repeat. Over and over and over.)

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