It has slowly crept in. Like a dirty, minging dog into the immaculate and impeccable territory of a house-proud home owner. This feeling of frustration. Of hopelessness. Of despair. Of “I will never amount to anything much.” For years now I have longed to be of use. To my husband. To God. To society. I have prayed. I have blogged. I have enquired. I have applied. I have kept my hope. I have fought. Yet nothing has happened. For I am still only a stay at home mummy. I am still only an overqualified yet useless substitute teacher. I am still only a dreamer with big dreams of communities changing through the involvement of the church. Dreaming of the reversal of the curse of generational patterns. I am still only a mummy blogger, like so many other thousands in the UK. I am still only a writer who dreams that her words will one day change and soothe and give hope. I have so many talents. I have such a desire to help and serve …