For so many years, on my list of things I wanted to do was to share some of my stories of what has kept me growing strong.
What lessons have given me strength - but I didn’t do it.
I didn’t do it because I was afraid of just how strong it would make me- how centered it would make me.
I was also afraid of how some of my experiences would show the weakness in me.
Now years later, that seems odd because I could have been a more connected person to my spirit and to my life. I could have used that still and listening meditation to help me be open with dealing with day-to-day situations, life’s heartache’s, and the strength to carry on.
Maybe I could have reached out and helped someone who was going through tough times similar to mine.
To reach out and help those to believe in themselves. Or to simply say- it’s alright to ask for someone’s hand. Most of all, I could have dealt with my days differently and more accordingly to how God believed I could.
I’ve met people, some Christians and some not religious at all, but who were spiritual in their own ways. Some who’ve grown into their own belief of getting through the hard times and living life to their fullest.
I would become that person, full of spirit and courage…
However, when a detrimental roadblock hit me, I suddenly became weak in my belief, and sometimes had to find my way back on the road… that would lead me home.
To My Readers….
So I did it! I wrote my first novel, based on true events.
I knew that I had it in me… and this journey has given this novel a home in itself.
I questioned myself at times- about why I wanted to do this?
What inspired me to want to write…
Unexpected Miracles - A Journey Home?
I did it because I believed I could- but knew there were some out there traveling through similar crossroads- like those I traveled myself.
I only hope that I inspired many others to take a journey with me.
I have a strong belief that writing with your heart and soul, is a great therapy.
It’s been my very own personal meditation- too.
It has helped me in so many of my years- but in so many indescribable ways.
When I don’t know how to work through a day, I look for the black journal, and work my thoughts together.
If I could reach out and give my readers the opportunity to pick up on reading this journey, I only hope they make their way through it- its unexpected paths, its miracles, its joys and its unconditional ever-changing paths. But start a journey home- themselves.
Walking Those Miles
Introduction From “Don’t Judge Me”
“As I began to read Miss Christine’s works of writing- I was instantly drawn into the natural sensitivity, intelligence, and warmth of the words of this young poetess, whose voice was shouting out to be heard.
Now, let me put it down in black and white, that this young lady is a born versifier, who obviously loves the impact of words in their written form- who explores without shame or defeat, her own self-hood and the turbulent struggles of the human heart.
As it comes to grips with loneliness, despair and unanswered questions, as well as the sublime joy, inspiration and seeming magic that comes with creating art-form.
Through her portrayals of life-scene in her work, she advises the reading world at large to explore themselves, and to accept whatever treasures they stumble across.
Her sincerity as an artist is nowise in question, and I thoroughly believe that she can help make this world a better place by continuing to write, recite, publish, and pursue the writing path.
Finally, all who are privileged to read her work at this stage in her life, and who are encouraged to understand, nurture and support her natural vibes- will know that the words of Miss Christine proclaims that the human heart is the well-spring of all earthy truth- which leads the hopeful to their proper paths and stations in life, and that true love is only to be found in the child-like innocence of one’s natural self-hood.”
Best of Life to You,
Christine.
Y.B.R.
Thanks to Y.B.R. he opened a doorway to a lifetime of writing…
A Child’s Heart
I grew up in Olde Trentan and was born as an identical twin in the summer of 1979.
My mother was not only to become a single parent but also the added pressure of being a young teenage mom-to-be of twins. She was only nineteen years old and only a year out of high school.
Her dreams were shot down as to pursue another degree, other than being a young mother.
Nevertheless, my mother’s honesty and dignity, helped her stay strong throughout her pregnancy and the arrival of her twins.
As a mom to not only one child- but two, she accepted the new task of being a dedicated caregiver and would show her love for her girls throughout everything she did in her new journey. It may have not been an easy road, but she wouldn’t stop in her tracks.
My mother still had her parents in her life; she was one of five children- the oldest girl.
The siblings got along with one another like most siblings do. There was the oldest one who looked after the younger ones; there was the musical brother who sang in a band, there was my mom who was a tough one to deal with at times, loved her mother and kept her mother on her toes. Then the youngest boy was the known for his playful tactics but the biggest heart, and the youngest daughter was her Daddy’s little girl.
They were a family of seven who all lived in the house. Some having to share rooms, others old enough to move out on their own throughout the years.
However, my Grandmother found that she had Lung cancer in 1979.
A tumor on her lungs the size of a grapefruit.
I know from my mother’s experience that this changed how things felt in the house. For Grandmother couldn’t run the house like she once did; raising her kids, cooking dinners, and so on. She soon had limitations to her daily life.
I believe my mother had to stay strong and cope with her mother’s disease at the same time.
Throughout those next months, my mother held onto her own strength knowing she was soon going to have to raise twin girls, but the devastation hit thinking about her own mother’s battle.
Grandmother cared for her kids and grandchildren, before she thought of herself.
Grandmother