So Many Stories Have Died

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.