The First Birthday

I was born April 12th, 1964.  A new-born little girl.  Wanted, I don’t know.  Planned, I don’t know.  Loved, I have my doubts.  Taken care of, the bare minimum.  Every little girl needs a daddy.  A strong protector and provider.  A trustworthy and safe haven for little girl needs.  When my parents brought me home from the hospital my father continued his horrific acts of violence.  He held a gun to my mother’s head asking her who I belonged to.  Then he opened the door and threw her out in to the rain.  She was dressed in her gown and locked out. Her screaming surely shattered the any silence there was for me. I wonder at just a few days and maybe even hours of being alive how that event effected me.  I know now how it set the course for my development.  I began life in a shattered state.  My mom thrown outside like trash and me left inside with a living screaming monster.  My need for a father, a stable reliable adult in my life was shattered.   To shatter means to break something in to pieces, as by a blow.  To damage, as by breaking or crushing, impair or destroy, to break in to fragments.
I am now working on 50 years of a restoration process that began on April 12, 1964.
I was created in God’s image. I was planned by God. I was chosen by Him. So HE is the one who is doing the restoration. Restoration simply means to return (someone or something) to a former condition, place, or position.
I am not who my parents shaped me to be. I am not who they told me I was either through their actions or lack thereof. I am who God says I am. I am being molded every day, every month and every year in to the person I was created to be. There is life, there is hope and there is purpose for me.


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