Essentially, we made collages.
What those poster boards revealed was who we were. What we thought. How we felt about life and such. Sometimes those revelations were silly. Other times deep. Brooding. The older we got, the more fashion oriented they became. Eventually, they faded altogether.
We became too old to find such creative ways of expressing ourselves.
A year and a half ago I began receiving O Magazine. For the longest time, I didn't know why. Who had sent me this subscription. Then, just before Christmas 2011, I received a card in the mail letting me know my good friend Allison Bottke was the sender and that she was sending another years subscription.
I've been pretty busy this past year; the magazines were flipped through, but not really read. Then, yesterday as Tropical Storm Debby beat down on Florida, I gathered a stack of them and started reading.
A memory of clipping and pasting washed over me.
I'm too old for making poster boards, but I'm not too old for journaling. I started cutting. I went to the office and pulled my journal from its place on my desk. The double-sided tape from its place. I returned to one of the family room sofas (the one nearest the picture windows looking out over an ever-rising lake) and started creatively sticking pictures and words and phrases to pages.
One of those "phrases" reads: WHAT I KNOW FOR SURE.
I taped it to the top of a page and decided I would write what I know for sure, one thing at a time. Not to be hurried. Not to be about others but about me.
I wanted the first thing I wrote not to be something like "That Jesus loves me."
Even though I know He does. For sure. That's more about who Jesus is.
After a while, after pondering, I wrote the first thing I knew for sure: "That I cannot wait for my grandson to be born."
At the end of nearly two very difficult years, this baby is Jesus reminding me how much he loves me. He will bring laughter back to my life. And, prayerfully, he will bring healing. And, the truth about me is that I have been so broken and bruised over these past two years--by Jordynn, by DCF, by Community Based Care of Central Florida, and by certain members of Jordynn's bio-family. Ripped to shreds. Left to bleed on the floor without care. Without compassion. Without pity.
Because of them, I have been afraid to love--to fully love--those I call my own. My children. My grandchildren. My friends and loved ones.
But this child ...
So, what would be the first thing you wrote if you knew something for sure?
