We all have a story to tell.
Your story, my story, they need to be told.
Buried deep in yesterday is our history, our milestones, our wisdom gained and learned from our wins, our losses. These truths of our lives must be unearthed, brought to the surface and passed on down into the hands of our children, our grandchildren and generations beyond.
What’s your story?
Might you be willing to open up the pages and tell your story?
Oh that we would dip our quills into the inkwell of our heart and form onto paper those sentences and chapters that define our past, so our stories can give understanding, fill in the blanks and answer the questions our family in the present are asking, and questions of future family in generations to come.
We must find courage to remember, to fill our passports with stamps that take us places we swore we’d never return to. We must go back and reclaim what was left behind; because it’s your story, it’s a second chance to redeem your memories and realize there are gold nuggets to be mined, but you must be willing to dig and sift and pan out the beauty you never thought was there.
A loyal traveling companion down the streets of our past, our present and has already walked into our future, God has been a lamppost along our way, lighting our path and writing our story through those peaks, those valleys and every high and low in the journey.
God has been faithful. He alone is a story worth retelling. Might we be willing to unfold the map of yesterday, re-trace the steps of an almighty Father and give him glory in our story?
The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you… Deuteronomy 31:8 NIV
“Your Story Matters”, a book poured out from the heart of Leslie Leyland Fields, words I have devoured, or possibly devoured me, from the very first page.
Leslie Leyland Fields tells her story that we would tell our story.
You don’t have to be a writer to tell your story, because your “words are your story”.
Your story matters.
My story matters.
Take my hand and follow me back into my beginning, the introduction and first few pages of my writing story.
I tell my story that you might be encouraged to tell yours.
A BIRTH ANNOUNCEMENT OF THE HEART
By Lori A Alicea
In my “thirties” living in a generation where women found great fulfilment in the workplace, many leaned though into the belief “you can have it all at the same time”; where one could “fry up the bacon inside the home while earning it from outside your white picket fence.” I was one of those women.
As a computer programmer analyst consultant for fifteen years, there’s no denying that gleaned from plowing into projects and sowing opportunity after opportunity into my professional fields, I yielded bushels full of a bountiful increase.
But in my arduous climb up that Mt. Everest of success, I found it difficult to breathe from the demands of higher elevations. Closer to the summit its view didn’t render the majestic glamour I imagined.
Prior to one step up that mountain I should have considered the price; I should have counted the cost of my earthly pursuits.
I wish the wisdom of our Women’s Ministry Pastor would have whispered in my ear years earlier, “You can have it all, just not all at the same time.”
Worldly gains came at a great price, it cost me big:
Cost me time and memories at home.
Cost those treasured “firsts” with my young children; first steps, first words, first day of school, that first day of baseball, and sadly, the scrapbooks are empty from so many more.
Cost my strength in exchange for weariness.
Costs my family and I paid dearly for.
These missed moments are now fallen leaves caught up in the updrafts of those autumn winds, forever lost and unable to be reclaimed or retrieved.
Eventually a tug-of-war ensued, a duel from both sides of my heart challenging each other to the death, career vs. my love for home.
The voice of my career screamed, “Keep climbing.”
The voice of my love for family begged louder, “Come home.”
In search for answers, a Heavenly Father reminded me:
There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens. Ecclesiastes 3:1
…A time to plant and a time to uproot. Ecclesiastes 3:2
I could have it all, just not all at the same time.
Encouraged and blessed by my husband, I uprooted myself from the acres of career and plowed up and re-planted my life into a brand new field called home.
Home felt so right.
Home fit like my favorite slippers on a cold day.
Home was the warmth of an angora sweater in a cool breeze.
Home was an afternoon smell of cookies baking in the oven.
Home was sharing pancakes over breakfast with my children before school.
Home was kneading bread dough on my kitchen counter.
Home was those walls that kept my family safe at night.
I was home and living the dream.
It didn’t take long before a gentle pursuit of me occurred in the still and quiet mornings; “words of home” began silently whispering.
The pitter, patter feet of (the simple thoughts, the little phrases, the innocent images of children and love…), began sneaking up on me from around the corner hallway, at the breakfast table as I sipped on my morning coffee, while gazing at the outside beauty from my kitchen window, all pulling on my apron strings and vying for my attention to be written.
There was no denying the stirring. I couldn’t push them away if I tried; words, those beautiful words.
Beautiful words stir my heart. I will recite a lovely poem about the king, for my tongue is like the pen of a skillful poet. Psalms 45:1 NLT
Born from this sacred place of my heart called home,
A birth announcement,
A debut column from years ago, the birthplace and baby’s first steps of a writing career,
Written to draw attention to the roses, our garden of the simple, the seemingly insignificant, yet the wonderment to discover if you allow its beauty to entice your curiosity to stop and smell them.
A Column is born,