They say that truth is stranger than fiction. In my life, I have found this to be true. What I tell you about my early years in the home with my family is as true as my memory and knowledge can be. My siblings have their own stories to tell. I tell you nothing about them that is not relevant to my story, except to say that it took many years for us to become close as siblings or friends. Much of that is attributed to our mama. It is not my intention to judge my mother, though; I’m just going to tell you my story. It is not a comprehensive, reveal-all, “pity me” sort of tale. It is also not a story of hate, and it is by no means a how-to book.
Mine is a story of survival, salvation, and overcoming. It is a story of a loving God–my true Father–and the difference knowing Him has made in my life. Don’t start looking for the fairy-tale ending just yet, though. It’s not that sort of story, even though God is very central to every bit of my life from the age of 18 (actually, before then, but I just didn’t know it at the time).
It’s a story of truth. It’s a story of struggle.
This is a story that may make you shake your head–not because God let my story happen as it did and did not make it perfect, but that God is perfecting me right smack dab in the middle of the storm. Because, you see, life before Christ and life after Christ did not change a whole lot on the human level. But He changed me. And those changes have made all the difference.
It took many years to recognize it, but I did finally come to know that God has been involved in every facet of my life from before I was born. I am most certainly not a super-saint. But God is a super God. I am simply a plain old girl, who was protected by God and am being used by God to live my life for His glory.