In my young adult years, I had a hard time being seen for who I was.
I was always identified by where I grew up, whose sister I was or who I hung out with. Although I loved those aspects of myself, I was more.
As years went on, I had to make choices for my happiness. Choices often opposite of what I thought was expected of me. That meant becoming vulnerable to change and criticism.
That shift came with a yearning to experience more of what life had to offer. I began to look outside the walls put in place by others and myself to live a life God wanted me to live.
I began to capture these experiences in my writing. This became a way for me to purge, process and heal.
This blog is that journey and it continues. A journey full of love, tears, pride and lots of laughs.
Thanks for joining me.
The Legacy of Quilting
As each woman held up her hand-sewn quilt and shared their stories, I saw the gleam in their eye and pride in each piece of art and history. Listening to these stories, I imagined women in the community sewing quilts together at a table or outside in their yards – as was the tradition.
A quilt has become a piece of history, handed down from generation to generation, yet the craft of quilting has faded.
Love Offerings from the Kitchen
When I grew up, we had dinner together around the dining room table. In the kitchen, my mother was the primary cook of all the meals.
There were times me or my sister had to get dinner started if we arrived home before our mother. I made many mistakes, but they were never criticized at the table. But we all knew when it was bad; like the time I fried the chicken too fast.