Let’s just pretend for a moment that I’m long gone, and even my own children’s graves have been filled long enough that wild bluebonnets have crept over where they rest. The house that my husband and I will build ten years from now will be uninhabited, and things would be just as we left them- only because our children and their children will want to visit and remember things just the way they were so many moons ago.
If you try hard enough, you can picture sun rays shining through a dirty window into a simple dining room. A plain, but sentimental window with chipped paint from years of facing the late afternoon sun- one that faces west, a simple thing that many not seem like much to anyone other than me. This window will be the solitary thing that I demand be put into the blue print when we lay the foundation down. It will be my joy. The spot where I can sit and watch my family play in the yard during sunset while the golden hour lighting gently dances across my aging skin for decades to come. Now imagine I’m gone, and there is nothing but silence. The sun is setting and the rays of light shine into my untouched home. It’s the kind of dusty light you get in an old hay barn, when the tin roof starts to peel up and just enough light comes through to watch the particles float around. Can’t you just see it now? Can you smell the dirt and years of memories playing back in a timelapse of simplicity? That’s all I want.
Through that window, at the very edge of those dusty rays shining on my favorite spot in the house, a leather-bound book on the abandoned kitchen table. Not just any book, but one that looks like it’s been dropped in the mud a time or two. Even with the rugged binding, you’ll find immaculate pages within, aside from the dog ear folds I left over the years when I needed to revisit one of life’s important lessons. Open the cover and within the rich aroma of the pages will be a worn down, tattered, and faded bookmark poking out about a third of the way through, the frayed ribbon having seen better days, but will have more than served it’s purpose. You open the book and find the word’s, “Undone. Unfinished. Unchained. Unleashed. Unfastened. Untied. Unbound.” A list that goes on and on. It may puzzle you beyond compare to see these words out of context- but I’m only a third of a way through my life and a third of the way through my story and these words describe ME. My freedom. My fresh start. It a a tale of great loss and redemption. How I went from lost, broken, and homeless to finding sincere contentment in my life. It’s not about the cards you’re dealt, it’s about how you play the hand, and the poker face you wear when facing up to your largest demons, and even the devil himself.
You see, I had to become undone in so many ways. I had damage from my childhood, damage that I had to undo on my own. As a young woman with a history to rewrite, I had to find a way break the cycle. I had to change the ending for my own family with absolutely zero direction in doing so. It took me a lot of years to find my faith, and to find true forgiveness and the art of letting go.
Now that I have, I’m going to share my journey and how I found the way to undo my wounds so that I could be undone with my life. I can assure you that you don’t have to relate directly to my situation to learn the art of letting go from whatever it is that’s chaining you down. I will die a happy woman if I can reach just ONE of you who needs a road map. Along the way I’ll be providing all of the tools you need to reclaim your life. Your joy. Your drive. Your peace.
This is just the beginning- life is undone.