The Story of Me (or maybe you)

The bird stopped long enough to help herself to a round crimson rose hip then flew off. It was a blustery sort of day and she wanted to get home to her cozy nest before the storm swept in.  As she battled against the wind some of the seeds fell over a forested area but she clamped her strong little beak on the rind which was the part she was most fond off anyway. The seeds drifted slowly to the ground. They fell into the carpet-like layer of leaves until the snowflakes covered them softly from view. The seeds nestled in deeper and fell asleep throughout the long winter. When the warm rays of the sun gently stirred the leaves in springtime, some of the seeds had settled in too deeply to notice, some became tasty snacks for insects or rodents but a few sent out tender shoots and roots although no one was around to notice. The few that popped through the surface grew slowly and when the canopy of leaves blocked out of the sun, most of them drooped and were too weak to survive. One was blessed with a sufficiently large patch of sunshine for most of the daylight hours to grow sturdily on. One day a woodsman strolled through the forest on the day the plant happened to unfurl her first delicate blossom. The hiker was a plant-lover at heart and wisely refrained from plucking the flower, let alone the plant, but carefully marked the area so he could return from time to time to see if the seedling was flourishing. The delicate plant had too much competition so the woodman strategically trimmed a branch or two to let in more light, and in his wisdom found more ways to nurture the growth. No one but him knew how well the sturdy little plant was flourishing and it brought a sparkle to His eyes.

I am that tiny plant. I have grown up shy and quiet, hidden by the towering extroverts surrounding me, but I, too, have a place to fill.
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1511783966
www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com

A Letter to My Younger Self

Dear Child,

I know what happened; I was there. Your innocent heart was like a rosebud, a pure white flower in a crystal vase. Then an evil hand came and smudged one of the petals. In your innocence, you were soon able to forget and go on with your play.  

You didn’t know this wasn’t normal, you didn’t know this was wrong but you kept it to yourself, why?

Maybe because it made you feel uncomfortable, maybe because you were afraid he would find out and get upset.  But it continued, one petal after another was smudged then crushed until one day the flower withered and died and the water of joy that had been feeding it had also drained away.

As a young child, you soon learned to be afraid of—him. By nature, you would have been carefree, but a shell that some called shyness was developing around you.

Time passed and you gradually became more aware of right and wrong. You saw younger children still carrying the beautiful bud of innocence but yours was faded and dying. It was then you began to realize that the delicate vase that was in your heart had also been crushed and the broken pieces were piercing you, causing much pain.

Is that the end: a broken heart, a dying flower?

It seemed like. In fact, the cuts festered over the years as you learned this was not normal and many were going through life happy because no evil monster had snatched away the flower of innocence and left a broken heart.

By now, those pieces have embedded deep into your heart but you observed others were acting ‘normally’ so pretended to do the same. How can a person be ‘normal’ when the slightest memory brings pain and bad experiences would cause the old wounds to start bleeding away?

How can you go on like this? But you did, year after year, you raised a family, had a caring husband …and prayed…

I keep ‘seeing’ the Great Physician hovering over me while I write; He wants me to remind you how He removed those crushed shards one by one and poured in the healing balm of love.

I know: and am grateful for what He has done, but there are others who are still suffering. Give your heart to Jesus let Him remove the broken pieces. It will not be easy but will sure be a lot easier than having them remain there.

I may have lost that flower of innocence at too young an age but it’s okay, now, because the Great Physician gave me what feels like a Garden of Eden in return.

http://www.marilynshistoricalnovels.com