I did it yesterday, I actually wrote on my blog! I’ve prayed for weeks, needing the courage to “put my story
out there.” You answered my prayer, and for that I am grateful.
While prayers are often private, I only have been able to carry on in my life with the Lord’s help. It was at age 8, I was lying on the floor on our blue shag carpet, in our upstairs hallway, crying out to Him. “What have I ever done to her God, to make her hate me so much? Then in the ever wisdom of a 2nd grader, I asked Him to please ‘take me’, saying, It’s ok Lord, I don’t mind, Iam ready to be with you. Please God, let me die today.” What is startling now, to look back at this conversation with Him, through sobbing tears, was how fearless I was. (or dumb) I know she heard me, my adopted mother, whom I shall refer to as She (there were many a smacks in the face for saying ‘she’ when talking about her, as she said that word means, Mother Cat. I really cannot call her Mother, or Mom). I say it was dumb to cry out to God, as that would further precipitate more pulverizing by her, but on this day it did not . I remember quite vividly, God answering me on that day- my 1st real recollection- that it was going to be alright. That I’d have to be strong, for what was going to continue in my life, He would always be there for me. At the end of that talk with God, again I spoke aloud, “I promise God, if you ever bless me with children, I will never hit them nor ever hate them. And my 2 beloved, now teenage sons, have never felt the angry, hurtful wrath of my hands, an iron, or shoes, or…well, you get it.
My background is of course, important to the story…how I got through to where I am today, my constant belief in God, through it all. I’ve got an older adopted brother- ‘Jorge’ who was adopted at 9 months from Quebec, Canada.The story, I’ve been told, is they wanted to get him a sister, and since my adopted parents were told they’d never conceive a child, never have their own kids, the 3 of them traveled back to Canada – this time Montreal. They went to the Sisters of Charity, to adopt a girl, a sister/daughter. Supposedly, there were 3 baby girls seated in front of a large glass pane, 1 baby had no hair, 1 had wispy red hair, and then there was me, a smiling, dark curly haired infant. So the story goes, my older brother, 4 years old at the time, picked me. True? I’ve not a clue, but they’ve stuck to that story, ending it with, “you are the chosen one, you are very special.”
Again, thank you for giving me the courage, to yet again, share the very beginnings of my life’s story. I know this is the easy part, to rehash much of what I’ve been through daily, will be difficult. I trust this is what you’ve asked of me, as everyday I pray and hear, to share this story. Thank you for my many, many blessings…and tomorrow, I will tell more of what I’ve written in this notebook, before me. Tomorrow, the courage to put on the computer and sit here again, may be much easier.