My Story

I sat down this afternoon with a pen, a journal and a hot cup of black chai tea with the sole intent of beginning the first chapter of what I refer to as My Story.  Now, there are many characters in this tale but I'm sure if you asked them thier experience it would vary drastically from mine. No one has experienced it the way I have and that makes it my very own and that's beautiful.  

 But I sat staring at that page long and hard... I sat and I stared. I stared and I sat.  Where do I begin?  How do you begin to tell a story so raw and emotional without it losing  it's feeling? I pondered this for a moment  and realized  I'm scared to write it down. I'm scared of not doing it justice. I want to keep it buried inside where I know it's meaning and depth. It's safe there.

 Maybe I'm just not ready yet.  The wounds have only recently begun to heal and the scabs are still so tender.

 I know I want to write it down one day so my children can see where their mama came from. I want them to know from my own heart what I was thinking and feeling during those dark days. That  my  love for them was a driving force in my eyes  being  opened to the mess we were living in. The mess I had become.  The mess I could not wait one more minute to clean up.

   I want them to know of God's power and love. I want them to know of how I stood at the bottom of that muddy pit, trying with all my might to claw my way out to no avail until I realized there was a rope there all along. And my God was holding the other end, waiting patiently for me to give up trying to do it on my own and let Him help me.

I want my babies to know of hope and joy! The happiness they bring me and how thankful I am to be their mother.

I may not be quite ready to write it all down yet but I will be.