Telling the story

The days have passed without written capture...but the joys still dwell in my heart. Many evenings I settled in...to share the pictures...to tell the stories...but it was as though the book remained closed.

I didn't want to state that "I had a sledding party at my parent's house"...instead I wanted to share the joy of watching children sled for the first time. (Finally, the book seems to be opening again.)

It will always be therapeutic for me to visit the farm. My escape...my refuge. As my dad circled the kids around the farm on a hayrack ride...I took in how different each child looked painted against the backdrop of a different setting...painted against the backdrop of freedom. Free from violence...free from being cut down...cursed at...free from alcohol and drugs...from raising their siblings...from cooking their own meals...free. Goosebumps spread...joy overwhelmed me...for they looked a lot like innocent children. Sometimes I forget this is how they are supposed to look.

I thank God everyday that He gives me this story to tell. All he asks of me...is that I continually consult the author.