RESCUED-REDEEMED-RESTORED

This Is My Story

This is my story. A story of God’s awesome power to rescue, redeem and restore. And His immeasurable love.

I’ve struggled with writing my memoir for many years. I’m finally taking a course about it and I’ll share some of my first draft with you. Not complete chapters but maybe a scene or two. And not much editing. This is the messy draft. The final draft may take a while…

Writing the story of my life seemed a little daunting, if not overwhelming, staring at the blank screen. After all, I’ve lived many years. So many stories to tell. But I set out to, above all else, tell the theme of my life. And I think the three words at the beginning convey that well.

As I sit here at my desk, fingers poised over the keyboard, I wonder how I will write this story of mine. I’m just an ordinary person, not a celebrity or politician that I have vast amounts of knowledge or scathing, deep secrets to shed on the world. But maybe you’ve had enough of that by now and my story will bring you back from the chaos even for one brief moment in time. Back to a place of reflection on the simple fact that God is here. He always is. He always has been. He hasn’t forgotten any of us and He isn’t content for us to be swept away in the torrent of disparity and hopelessness.

RESCUED   REDEEMED   RESTORED

Image of a girl on a swing over water
photo by Susan Cipriano, Pixabay

When I was a young child, I always had a strange fascination with death. Not that I was a violent person—far from it—but that death held a mystery no one seemed to be able to adequately explain. It crept into my thoughts when I least expected it and took up residence in the recesses of my mind.

My walk to school as a 5-year-old was past the graveyard of a church. It was a pleasant walk on the other side of the hand-made stone wall with English ivy creeping slowly across the cracks. But I didn’t walk with the other children where the graves were hidden. No, I walked on the inside, between the headstones, careful not to step on a grave and be disrespectful. Reading the names and dates and how the people who had gone before died, I learned about history. Even though I was still new to reading and I’m sure got it wrong many times, I was still fascinated by the quotes and bible verses chiselled on the headstones. And there was often a smushed toad to poke with a stick.

I used the spending money I received from my grandparents to buy trading cards about ‘The War of The Worlds’ and ‘Zombies’. When other eight-year-old girls were collecting fancy hairclips and cards of famous singers and ballerinas, I was fascinated by cards depicted decapitations by alien machinery and bodies rising from graves. Never the less, I was thought of a gentle soul in every way–and kind. Everyone said I would give away my last sweetie.

–This is a little backstory of my early years. An introduction to my life then. (I no longer collect horror cards but I am a huge fan of The Walking Dead!) Some things haven’t changed.

Til next time, know you are loved by the One who created you in His image.

~ Lynne

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