This is the box my mother gave me in 2005. Inside were three letters written in pencil on lined notebook paper. They were sent by my father when he was in the Navy and shortly before he was killed by a Kamikaze pilot in a battle in the Philippine Islands.
I know this must have been a box filled with candy that he gave her. Once I found her sitting on the floor with this box, holding a picture and crying. I was around 10 years old. She handed me a picture, which was also inside the box, and told me it was my dad. She said he was the love of her life.
This will be included in the book I’m writing this winter. As I dig into history, I’m finding more information about his family. I never really knew them. I also didn’t know my biological grandparents on my mother’s side, only her aunt and uncle who adopted her after their deaths. I loved my grandma and grandpa a lot. I’ll be including stories of growing up with them in the book as well. So many stories to be told. I don’t want the history to die with me as most of it did with my mother.
Lifting my cup of tea and thanking God for the gift of opening history for me and showing me glimpses of life in the past. Often I’ve thought of writing a fictional book about my parents, weaving a love story during World War II. Maybe, if God is willing, that will come to fruition.
Lifting my cup of tea and wishing you all a day to think about your history and if you have shared enough with your family to be passed down through generations. God is good!
This is my grandfather. He was my mother’s paternal uncle who adopted her at five years old after the death of her parents. The people at the top are my great grandmother and great grandfather. This is a picture of a soldier going to serve his country during World War I. This picture brings back memories of a childhood with many ups and downs.
My winter’s project is to look through all the old pictures I own and piece together a book of memories and stories that will be lost one day. So many stories have died with the past, never to rise again. I don’t want to lose this heritage for my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
Sometimes I look at pictures of me when I was young and think back on all that has transpired throughout my life. There never was a time God didn’t have His hand on me, though at many critical times in my life I didn’t realize He was there.
My life is like a movie that has resonated with me, recalling scenes, both happy and sad. Maybe my family won’t be interested in reading about my life, about times in the past, but perhaps someday when they are my age, they will. And maybe it will trigger in them a passion to capture their lives in writing too.
The passion to write this final book is burning brightly in my soul. It’s like a calling. And so, with a little fear, I say yes. I will step out of my comfort zone and believe God has given me the skills to write the story with passion in an interesting way.
Lifting my cup of tea with joy in my heart and a thankful shout to the Lord for His goodness and mercy to me, a sinful woman.