Wednesday, January 26, 2011
What is it with our past that draws us in and makes us feel as though the ceiling is collapsing on us? Especially if our past is something we don’t want to dwell on? Or remember. Perhaps there is a highly guarded desire for truth, for justice. Or perhaps, part of us, the part we don’t even recognize ourselves, wants to know what really happened.
I remember a question my brother asked me once. He said “Darlene, why can’t I remember our childhood? I can’t remember anything? Why?”
I have thought often and long on that question. What is the answer? Why can I not remember my grade school years? My teachers, my friends…I have nothing. I am blank. I don’t remember Christmases or birthdays. I have no recollection of happy times or favorite family meals. I have no family traditions to pass on to my children. I have no pieces of wisdom, no life changing advice, to give to my daughter as she is about to embark on her own life. I have nothing.
It’s like my mind has willingly blocked everything. Every hurt. Every pain. Every feeling of inadequacy, gone, like it never existed to begin with.
Then, as I am about to become discouraged, I think on this. My life is about what I make it. My life is defined by me. My choices say who I am. Not my past. Not my childhood. As a child, I was not responsible for the actions of those who should have been responsible. Someone else’s pain cannot dictate who I am to be, unless I allow it.
I have been adopted into a family that is full of love. I have wonderful memories of great times with this family, and I do not question my standing in this family. My Father loves me enough that He died for me. His gentle and patient ways teach me how to mother my own children. He believes in me. He encourages me. He wants me to live a full and happy life. He protects me. He loves me. I love Him.